Twist
by Galasriniel
Summary: Post-TWS. Bucky turns himself in to what was once SHIELD so that he might get the help he needs shedding The Winter Soldier identity and to find the answers he's looking for. With the help of one of their linguists, he confronts his past, and has a shot at rediscovering himself and finding peace in a world full of chaos. BxOC Rating for language and adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

Got the bug after seeing CATWS, and decided to try my hand at a Marvel fic. I've always loved Bucky's character, so hopefully I do him justice. We'll see how this goes!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs, the plot, and the cat. The rest belongs to the Mouse.

* * *

_**Chapter 1**_

"_Des yeux qui font baisser les miens__  
__Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche__  
__Voila le portrait sans retouche__  
__De l'homme auquel, j'appartiens__…"_

- "La Vie en Rose," Edith Piaf

"Mind explaining to me _why_, exactly, you decided to turn yourself in?"

He sat on the bed they had provided him, back against the wall, legs drawn up with his arms casually resting atop his knees. To the untrained eye he looked perfectly at ease, but the tension in the room was palpable. He didn't deign to respond, much less look up from an intense study of the comforter (blue, probably a little itchy) peeking from between his feet.

A harsh exhalation through the nose, too quiet for a sigh. "Do you even speak English anymore, boy?"

He was slightly insulted, moderately tired, and very annoyed. None of this was displayed on his features.

Heavy footsteps towards the door. "Have it your way. You won't like the next step, but you have left me little choice."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and remained impassive.

The door opened, and Fury's deep voice snarled, "Call Balitiu, have her come to my office. Now."

The door shut again, and he was left with peace and quiet. And solitude. He left out a long sigh and tried to avoid his dark thoughts.

Maybe he should have given some sign of life, if only to keep the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. around a little longer.

_No, you're better off alone,_ he thought. _  
_

* * *

Lina Balitiu distractedly ran a hand through her tangled curls, grumbling to herself as she graded undergrad papers on _The Sun Also Rises_. As much as she enjoyed teaching literature classes at Howard University, these sophomores were really killing her. How hard was it to do a close reading and analysis? Really, the page looked like it was bleeding from all the red ink on it. She huffed and decided that they really weren't paying her enough.

When her phone rang (blasting the Inspector Gadget theme song), Lina started, rolling away from the desk. Her hand, still buried in her blonde mane, caught on a particularly stubborn tangle, causing her to yelp and curse quickly. She regained her appendage and stood to grab the offending phone, and barked "Balitiu" into the receiver.

"_Agent Balitiu, you are needed at headquarters. There should be an SUV waiting for you outside your building. You'll be escorted directly to the director."_

"Director? Listen, I haven't been active in over a year. What's going on?"

"_I have no further information. Thank you,_" the cool female voice said before disconnecting the call.

Lina stood staring at her phone for a moment while she tried to puzzle out exactly what she was needed for. Like she'd said, she hadn't been active in over a year, simply going about life as an adjunct professor, waiting for her linguistic skills to be needed again since the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D. during the Hydra fiasco. Either the intelligence organization had well and truly been disbanded, or they simply had no further use for her. Until today.

Quickly, she shuffled her papers into her messenger bag and strode out of her tiny office. It was well after the end of the day, so she'd been alone in the small space shared by herself and two other professors when the call came. There was no one around but the janitor, a friendly older man named Jack, to see her hurried departure. Smiles were exchanged, but Lina had no time to stop for conversation. If she was being reactivated as an agent, it was best not to keep her new boss waiting.

She slid into the backseat of the waiting black SUV that took off the second her door was closed and her credentials were verified. She wasn't entirely sure were the new headquarters would be, and absently took note of the route from the campus.

Lina wasn't a field operative, but she had the required defense and survival training. She could shoot fairly well, was handy with knives, and had the basic hacking skills that everyone was expected to be proficient in, but her specialty was languages. She was fluent in Russian and French, conversational in Spanish and Mandarin, and could get by with her basic German. S.H.I.E.L.D. used her to translate pieces of recorded conversations and acquired files (never whole ones; Fury had called it compartmentalization), and she'd even been used as a translator for meetings with foreign officials – and _un_officials. If her service was being reactivated, then the reason why was simply a toss-up between those two possibilities. Her pulse picked up at the thought of being an active agent again, and her palms began to sweat.

They arrived at an innocuous office building, and Lina was escorted directly inside, bypassing the receptionist's desk, and into an elevator to the 14th floor. She wondered how many underground levels this seemingly ordinary building hid. The anonymous agent walked ahead of her to a plain wooden door (_probably steel-reinforced_, Lina thought), knocking once and throwing it open.

Lina's eyes widened at the man on the other side of the desk, staring at her through the open doorway. Her breathing hitched, and a wide smile blossomed on her face. "Sir, I know you've probably heard this a hundred times, but you have _no_ idea how good it is to see you. You know, see you alive. And breathing. And alive," the blonde laughed, closing the heavy door behind her and shaking Fury's hand enthusiastically before taking a seat across from the still-kicking S.H.I.E.L.D. director.

He chuckled a bit and got right down to business. When he was done explaining the situation to her – or what she needed to know about her new assignment – he sat back, fingers steepled, and watched her splutter.

"Sir, I have no experience in that field. Yes, I can provide translations of anything he says, but to try to assist in his rehabilitation? No. I'm not a psychologist; anything I know about the field came from an Intro to Psych class ten years ago, and the internet! Shouldn't you be asking someone better qualified to do this?"

"Agent Balitiu," Fury began, "you have firsthand knowledge of how to react to post-traumatic stress episodes, you fluently speak the languages this man is most familiar with, and you are stubbornly – _annoyingly_ – cheerful. I believe you to be fit and perfectly qualified to act as his watchful companion. Gain his trust, convince him to eat, make regular reports, and then get him into therapy with Dr. Reno. That is your assignment as it stands now; it is subject to change at any time, and you will be monitored." His voice remained calm but authoritative as he sternly gazed at her across the desk.

Lina nodded, both reassured and chided, watching as the imposing man swept towards the door. "When do I meet him?"

"Now. Come on, agent."

She swallowed, jerking to her feet and fidgeting with the worn strap of her messenger bag. She felt nauseated from a sudden onset of nerves; it's not every day you meet a once-legendary assassin and are ordered to befriend him.

Once in the elevator, Fury punched in a code with the floor numbers which revealed a retinal scanner. He scanned his eyes, did some more button-pushing and had Lina do a scan that gave her the appropriate clearance for the level they were now rushing towards. All she had to do from here on out was punch in the code and do the scan in order to be taken immediately to the appropriate level.

"This level is dedicated to housing for recuperating agents and… assets that have been deemed non-hostile. There's a gym and a pool for physical therapy, and they're all free to use it at any time. The shrinks' offices are also on this level, as is a cafeteria. In the spirit of disclosure: the food down here is better than the food in the aboveground levels," Fury informed her in his usual no-nonsense, dry tone as he led her through the halls. "Your assignment has access to all of these amenities, but has yet to leave his rooms."

They stopped outside a door – 42, Lina noted – and Fury took a long, level look at her before knocking and entering without being asked.

"Well, that was rude," Lina muttered, following him in. The room was very spartan with just a bed, a dresser, and an empty bookcase. The door on the left wall, across from the bed and beside the dresser opened on the bathroom, which was just as sparse as the bedroom. The walls were a pale blue, reminiscent of the paint in hospital rooms, and bare of any personalization. The sheets were white, the blankets blue, and the bed frame was dark, steel-reinforced wood. The furniture was all bolted to the linoleum floor, making it an even bleaker space.

She took all of this in in a single, cursory sweep of the room before her eyes fell on the third person. He sat on the still-made bed, legs crossed in front of him, with his head tilted back against the wall facing the door they'd just come through, and his eyes were closed.

"Mr. Barnes, it's rude to ignore your company," Fury said dryly.

The man – Barnes, James Barnes – didn't even twitch a muscle. Lina began worrying her fingers.

Fury looked at Lina, rolling his good eye. "He's not catatonic, if that's what you're thinking. He just likes to infuriate us into leaving. Which _isn't going to work_." The last was directed at Barnes.

Still nothing.

Nerves abating in the face of annoyance, she clenched her long, thin hands into fists by her side and said, in perfect Russian, "_I know you don't like the intrusion, but at least stop being a complete ass and look at me._"

Barnes' jaw clenched and his eyes flew open at the too-familiar language, and all Lina could see was blue.


	2. Chapter 2

Two posts in 24 hours is fairly atypical, but I'm trying to avoid writing an annotated bibliography, so you benefit! If you want a lovely rendition of "La Vie en Rose," check out Madeline Peyroux's. It ranks right up there with Edith and Louis.

I was asked how Bucky could turn himself into SHIELD if it no longer exists; well, I don't think the agency is about to go down, not with Fury still kicking. They'd lay low for a while until the press attention died down, but would continue to rebuild and hunt down Hydra operatives to eliminate them from being a problem again. Granted, cut off one head and two grow back, but SHIELD operated in the shadows for decades; they can easily fall back into that pattern, using only the agents who remained loyal (because I'm sure there's more than one base across the U.S., and more than six agents whose loyalty is unquestioned). They might revamp and repackage themselves, but they're still SHIELD. This will be addressed in the next few chapters.

Disclaimer still applies.

* * *

_**Chapter 2**_

"It is only at the first encounter that a face makes its full impression on us."  
– Arthur Schopenhauer

_Blue._ Such a tortured, tempestuous blue. Lina sharply sucked in a breath and held it for fear of drowning in all of that blue. Anger, annoyance, shock, and maybe… was that? fear, well hidden but still present, all stared back at her in that steely, gem-like gaze. She decided that if she had to have a favorite shade of blue, his eyes were it.

The loud clearing of a throat snapped her out of the staring contest she'd unwittingly entered into. She felt her cheeks flush pink.

"Now that we have your attention," Fury griped, "Agent Balitiu is assigned to you to help with the transition back into the world. Try not to break her; the training was expensive."

Lina snapped her head around to glare at his retreating, leather-clad back. "Sometimes I really cannot stand him… Sassy pants." She turned back to Barnes and found him reclining in his original position, but with his eyes open and trained on her. "So, you speak English, yes? Or should I stick to Russian?"

No response.

"Fine. _Russian it is. Are you hungry? I hear the food on this level is good._"

Still nothing.

"_You delight in being difficult, don't you_?" The intensity of his stare was really making her uncomfortable. One delicate hand reached up and tugged a wild curl that had fallen over her shoulder. He still didn't respond, but his eyes darted down to watch her hand as she toyed with her honeyed hair. "_I'm unarmed, promise. Please don't try to kill me; I don't really think I'd enjoy death. It sounds rather dull."_ When his eyes met hers again, she blushed harder and turned to scan the bare room. "_This room is depressing. You should really consider sprucing it up some. Or I could do it for you, though I have to warn you: my idea of decorating includes old movie posters, a plant I can't keep alive, and mountains of books,_" she rambled, turning to face him again, surprised when he'd sat up off the wall at some point.

"Which did you like, the movies, dead plants, or books?" she asked, reverting to English.

It took a moment, during which she thought he'd remain silent again and was preparing to start babbling again, but the sound of his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"_Books._" It was rough from disuse, but a lovely, resonating timbre that (Lina was convinced) never left him wanting for a date when – if – he'd ever participated in such things.

Her eyes lit up like Christmas had come early, and she bounced on the balls of her feet, already formulating a list of titles to bring after she got out of class the next day. "_Books. Got it. You have come to the right bookworm to help you out. Any preferences? A favorite author or genre, maybe?"_

He shook his head and repeated, "_Books._"

"You got it, boy-o. Again, I have to warn you, leaving the choices up to my discretion might be a dangerous thing. I'm a part-time literature professor, you see, so you might wind up with some nutty titles." Her smile split her face, and Lina was absolutely certain that she looked like a fool. "_Would you like me to bring you some food tomorrow, as well?_"

Barnes blinked, whether from shock or the cheerful question she couldn't tell. He shook his head and leaned it back against the wall, eyes falling shut again. Lina assumed that meant she'd been dismissed, but she really didn't want to walk out of her new assignment five minutes after being left alone with him.

Instead, she sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, back to the wall, and pulled the stack of hastily packed papers from her bag. With a mournful sigh, Lina resumed reading and grading them. About four papers in, she felt his eyes on her again. She kept working, knowing that if she looked at him, he'd snap them shut and pretend he hadn't been caught watching. Another paper that looked like it bled to death under her pen; it's like these kids had never taken a composition class or heard of MLA. Lina loved being able to get paid while doing scholarly work, writing, and publishing on post-war literature, but some of the students made her want to tear her hair out by the handful.

James Barnes continued to watch her marking up the short papers before her, trying to puzzle out her motivation for staying. He'd given her his request for books – the offer had made him feel the first flutters of excitement in… he couldn't remember how long – and then he'd returned to sullen silence. It was the one sure-fire way to get these people to leave him be that didn't involve violence or tasers (as he'd discovered after a flashback and the following fit of rage; it was an experience he didn't fancy reliving). But the blonde, the twitchy little blonde in glasses, she didn't leave when he dismissed her very presence. Quite the opposite, she sat down and made herself at home. In his (very dreary) room. Within six feet of a man who could singlehandedly squish her head like a grape. And she was _grading papers_, completely ignoring him. The daft girl didn't even glance at him out of the corner of her eye to make sure he wasn't about to go ballistic.

If it wouldn't give away his growing agitation, he'd be huffing and glaring. Instead, he chose to observe the woman who was clearly more brains than brawn, and his new babysitter. He felt mildly insulted that he'd been assigned to someone he could so easily annihilate, but he knew Fury had his reasons and he'd be damned (as if he wasn't already) if he couldn't figure them out.

Lina pushed her glasses back up her nose, and her head snapped up when she realized, "_We weren't properly introduced."_ She clumsily surged to her feet, came around in front of him and extended her hand for him to shake._ "I'm sorry for being so rude; my name is Lina Balitiu, and I'm a linguist here with the S.H.I.E.L.D. comms division, or whatever they're calling themselves now."_

Her sudden movement had triggered his self-preservation instincts, and he fought to control the impulse to throw her into the wall. When James simply glared at her from his knees, arms raised defensively, her eyes widened, her face drained itself of blood, and she sheepishly used the extended hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. "_I'm sorry again; I was raised to be a stickler for manners. I didn't mean to startle you. I really do not mean you any harm. You'll see."_

Her eyes locked on the metal arm, and she coached herself into not reacting. Fury had her helping The Winter Soldier, the man who'd been sent to assassinate Fury and Captain America; the man whose actions had toppled S.H.I.E.L.D., or had helped to topple it. Lina forced herself to breathe. She slowly backed a few steps away from him, eyes now trained on his, and started to return to her last few essays when his voice stopped her.

"Barnes. Sergeant James Barnes. At least, that's who everyone tells me I am." That voice, that sad, beautiful voice… Her heart went out to him, unable to imagine the depths of his pain and confusion, despite his actions. Her father had raised her to believe in second chances, and that's exactly what this was for him.

Lina smiled gently at him, "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Sergeant."

Bucky relaxed back onto the bed. He'd seen her eyes widen when she finally noticed the monstrosity that was his left arm, and he knew that she knew what he'd done a year ago. "Try not to patronize me," he spat.

She glared and fired right back, "I'm not being patronizing, they're called manners, and yours could really use some work."

"There's no room for niceties in my world."

"Well, you're no longer in that world, so buck up and play nice."

His hands clenched into tight fists. His muscles shook from reigning in his anger. _Don't kill her, don't kill her, don't kill her_, he chanted to himself. He'd killed for a lot less in his tenure as a Soviet assassin, but he needed to hold back to stay in Fury's good graces. Or as close to that as he could hope to get. James needed answers, and the organization that he'd helped destroy (however unsuccessfully) was the only place he could be certain of getting them. Besides, she really hadn't done anything wrong. He knew the guilt over the death of another innocent at his hands would weigh him down even more.

Instead of lashing out, he chose to level Lina with a strong glare and revert back to silence. She huffed out an annoyed breath and whirled away to finish her work.

The quiet endured until she packed up about a half an hour later, standing to leave. One hand on the door knob, she turned back to look at him. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon with a couple books you might enjoy. You should really eat something – and shower – before then. Goodnight, Sarge."

The heavy door softly clicked shut behind her when she realized he was freezing her out, and James was all alone. Again.

* * *

As soon as she closed the door behind her, an agent in a black suit and sunglasses (_really? Sunglasses at night _and_ underground? Whackadoodle._) handed her a thick folder and wordlessly led her back to the elevator that would return her to the civilian world. Lina opted to just read it when she got home, assuming that it was the history of The Winter Soldier she'd need to be familiar with to avoid unintentionally setting him off. Because that had worked out well so far.

The ride to her apartment building was a short one, thankfully. She chirped out a 'goodnight' to the agents in the front seats, and clambered out of the black vehicle, nearly tripping herself in her rush to get inside.

All she wanted was a hot shower, a glass of wine, and her cat. Lina still had the file to read, but she could do that between sips of merlot and cuddles with Ziggy. She did exactly that. Between the happily mewing calico kneading in her lap, day old Chinese food and a large glass of her favorite red wine, Lina became acquainted with what little was known of The Winter Soldier, formerly James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes (they had included his Army files from WWII and the Howling Commandos). The old picture they had included showed a clean cut young man with a mischievous sparkle in his eye and a good-natured smirk on his lips. Lina immediately knew that her earlier assumption about him never lacking a date had been right on the money.

She looked at the picture for a long while, trying to reconcile this charming young man with the defensive one that acted like a wounded animal. To go from being so happy and normal to being a cybernetically altered super-being who was living seventy years out of his time, and with a dark past to boot, would involve much suffering on his part. She just knew it; regardless of how much James tried to hide it behind his tense silences and gruff exterior. The man didn't want pity; he needed to be shown compassion, and the two were quite often confused.

Lina took another sip of wine and skimmed the page detailing some of the experiments done on James in the Hydra camp during WWII. They had been attempting to mimic the Super Soldier Serum that had been successfully administered to Captain Rogers, but with limited success on Arnim Zola's part. James' metabolism had been sped up and his cells quickly regenerated to heal any wounds he received. The U.S. Army had marked an improvement in his reflex response times, but he still aged at a regular pace. If that was the case, then Lina had no idea how he still looked to be in his late twenties more than half a century later. The cryogenic stasis would explain that, but it was still incredibly disconcerting.

Lina looked at the black and white photograph again, and her last thought before she fell asleep on the sofa was, _it's a shame they couldn't capture the color of those eyes…_


	3. Chapter 3

Guys, either I punched myself in the eye last night or my cat did it. Both are pretty plausible. Or, slightly less plausible, I have some rare, deadly, disgusting eye disease that will require Dr. House's skills to save both me and my vision. If that were the case, I'd complain but don't think I'd really be unhappy.

Anyway. For the story you all came to read.

* * *

_**Chapter 3**_

"The evil that men do lives after them;  
The good is oft interrèd with their bones."  
- "Julius Caesar" 3.2.74-75

The next day saw Lina packing a backpack full of a variety of books that she thought might interest her new ward (she decided to call him that while brushing her teeth because it seemed marginally less impersonal and dehumanizing than "assignment") might enjoy, and lugging it all to the university with her.

"Um, what's with the extra baggage?" Selma, a fellow adjunct and one of her officemates, demanded when the blonde entered. "Don't tell me you've started your research over."

Lina, who'd been unpacking her bag for the day, stiffened at the question. No one here knew about her other job. "Oh… No, I have a really sick friend who asked me to drop some reading material off, and I didn't know what to pick…." She hated lying, especially to someone she liked. It never failed to make her feel squeamish.

"So you, what? Decided to take them your whole collection?"

"Good morning, ladies!" David, their third and final officemate, declared as he threw the door open. "I bring coffee and bagels – Lina, please tell me that's a bomb in your bag and that you're not starting your research from scratch." He eyed her bulging backpack warily. He didn't know if he and Selma could handle another semester of their limited wall space being covered in bright, color-coded notecards by their sleep-deprived colleague.

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "No and no. These are books for a sick friend."

"Did you manage to cram every book you own in there?"

"No, I could only squeeze about half of them in," she threw back. "You said something about coffee…?" Lina couldn't function without at least three cups of coffee in the morning, something Selma and David knew well. So far, she'd had one and was already on a crash course if she didn't get another, stat.

David rushed to hand a cup to her, nearly tripping over himself as he rounded the corner of her desk. "Black, with more sugar than any dentist would ever recommend." His gray eyes sought her bleary, bespectacled ones out eagerly.

"Ai ai ai," Selma muttered, grabbing her own café mocha and disgustedly turning to check her email.

All of it went unnoticed by Lina, who simply took her drink with a smile of thanks and busied herself with preparations for her upcoming lecture.

* * *

Normally, at the end of the work day and after her office hours were over, Lina would head back to her apartment where she'd shower, make something for dinner, and do some grading, some writing for her next peer-reviewed work, or catch up on her television programs (Scandal was really quite addictive). However, after yesterday when she'd been called back into S.H.I.E.L.D., that routine was out the window. While it would make time management a bit more difficult, she was quite relieved. Her life had been stagnating since the Hydra infiltration came to light and the job she loved had all but disappeared.

She had finally begun to accept that S.H.I.E.L.D. was no more and her life would be exactly like her mother's: teaching until she eventually settled with someone and popped out a couple of kids. _Granted, my kids would be adorable – hopefully – and perfectly capable of picking up anyone they wanted in at least two foreign languages. If I even_ have _any; I could just become a cat lady. Those odds are really stacked against me_._ But still… I'm not ready for that_, she thought as she boarded the bus that would drop her within two blocks of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s new building. (She'd stopped at a dive right off campus to pick up some food to take the guy; even with the whole Super thing going on, he looked like he was wasting away.)

Lina leaned her head back against the seat and let her thoughts roam to her ward. To James Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Why Fury had actually chosen her was completely beyond her; sure, he'd rattled off a list of reasons, but she knew there was more to the story than that. She had no ties to the sergeant's past. She was able to speak his languages, sure, but S.H.I.E.L.D. had plenty of battle-hardened agents with the same ability who would be more capable of defending themselves against him should he snap. Sure, she was handy with knives (the men in her family had made damn sure of that) and had two secreted about her person whenever she ventured out, but she'd be no match for an enhanced superhuman with a freaking vibranium arm and decades of experience.

She exhaled heavily, thinking, _I bet Fury just likes to see me squirm. Maybe this is his way of reliving the gladiatorial arena; I'm the prisoner and Barnes is the hungry lion._ Immediately she felt uncharitable and regretted ever having the thought. _ He can't help the situation he's in, you dillhole. It's not like he _asked_ to be experimented on by crazy Nazis and then the Soviets after; he had no choice, so you better be extra freaking nice to the poor guy. _

Self-chastisement over, she exited the bus and hurried into the building from yesterday, noticing the sign for the first time. "Acme Paper Co.? Really? Very creative guys; it sounds like a Looney Tunes episode," she muttered amusedly.

Even the receptionist was upholding the cover, answering all the calls with a bored, "Acme Paper, please hold." Seriously, all of them. Or maybe she didn't know it was a cover. Maybe she really did think she was a receptionist for a paper supply company. It wouldn't surprise Lina.

She walked to the same elevator and made sure she was alone, shutting the door in some harried looking woman's face, to input the code and go through the security protocols that sent her plummeting below the earth.

* * *

A polite knock sounded at James' door, but he made no move to open it. Manners be damned. He was perfectly content to wallow in the fragments of memories and images swirling around his brain. If he moved now, the sensation of being close to piecing them together and making sense of it all would disappear. He needed that feeling of almost-certainty. If it abandoned him now, he felt that the weight of the whole world would come crashing down on him. Instead, James continued to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling.

The person on the other side of the door knocked again, more insistently this time. At least he knew it wasn't Fury, come for another "pep talk." The man never waited to be asked in.

He smelled the faint scent of something fried and was swept up in a memory of a carousel reeling him around, the sound of a large crowd, a cute brunette, and someone else, someone he cared about deeply… The harder he tried to focus on the face of this person, the further he got from anything but blurs and swirling lights. Trying to grasp a memory was like trying to cup water in his hands; no matter how tightly he squeezed his fingers together, the water still seeped out. He could feel the frustration mounting, and it peaked when whoever the hell it was knocked again, harder and now incessantly.

Growling his agitation, he leapt up from the bed and threw the door open. "_What_?" he snarled.

Lina looked at him with big, innocent eyes. "Well, hello to you too, Sarge. Is that any way to greet a guest?"

"It works for the unwanted ones."

"Cute." She stepped around him and into the room, trailing the faint scent of citrus and sunshine in her wake. And something fried. His stomach began to rumble and he rolled his eyes, hoping the snarky blonde woman hadn't heard. If she had, she had the good grace not to mention it.

He shut the door softly behind her and leaned up against it, arms crossed over his chest. James purposely left his metallic left arm in front, hoping to make her as uncomfortable as possible in order to move her departure time up.

Instead of flinching or jumping, she simply looked at him over her shoulder, one eyebrow quirked before she sat on his bed. "Seriously, dude? I have seen that move so many times that it's lost its intimidation factor. Now, come sit down; I brought you the two best things ever, books and food. Well, maybe not the _only_ two best things ever – the list is in no way exclusive, but you get what I mean." Lina pat the spot beside her, indicating that he should fill it.

James stood up straight, eyeing her warily. The food could easily be spiked with something that would make hauling him from this quasi-sanctuary and getting information on Hydra easy (not that he had much of the latter except a few names and more faces…).

Having seen this same paranoia before, Lina simply reached into the brown paper bag she'd been carrying to remove a cardboard tub full of fried chicken. She pulled out a golden-brown breast and daintily bit into it, watching him all the while. "_See? Perfectly safe. There's french fries and sweet tea in there too. Come on,_ _Sarge_,_ help yourself. It's the best in the city_."

She continued to eat her piece of chicken while James debated with himself. That could have easily been the only safe piece of meat in the bucket, and he really had some issues with allowing himself to be made vulnerable to anyone again after his stint with the Soviets. On the other hand, it was fried chicken. Fried chicken that smelled delicious, and he couldn't remember his last meal that hadn't been bland and perfectly balanced to ensure maximum performance…. _Fuck it_, he thought, seating himself on the edge of the bed as far from his babysitter as possible and biting into a thigh.

James nearly moaned as the first bite crunched in his mouth. The flavors of the spices in the breading exploded on his tongue in little fireworks of smoky, lemony joy. The texture of the food – actually, the fact that there was any texture to begin with – struck chords within him that he felt had never been played before as he bit through the perfect crunch to the soft, sweet meat beneath. He'd have been delighted with either flavor or texture, but to have both at once… This must be the closest to heaven he'd ever been. He swallowed roughly and tore another mouthful of meat off the bone, unwilling to miss out on a moment of this near-religious experience.

He was aware of Lina's eyes on him as he ate, but at this point of blissful abandon he didn't give a lick. The thigh was devoured in what seemed like mere seconds, and another soon followed.

Dark meat. He'd forgotten how much he loved it.

His eyes widened at the thought and his chewing stilled as that one small, almost insignificant part of who he had been came lazily drifting back.

It was silly and meaningless, completely inconsequential, and it felt like the earth had moved. Most of the world took that kind of preference for granted, but here, now, with him – James Buchanan Barnes, The Winter Soldier, Bucky, whoever he was – it was worth more to him than the most prized piece of art in the Louvre. He turned the thought over and over in his mind. He now had some kind of food preference. He had something that he _liked_. That he _enjoyed_. It wasn't a perfectly balanced tray of sludge or a nutritional shake. It was food. Real, solid, flavorful food.

Upon being escorted to this room and told about the cafeteria, he'd found his way down there exactly one time. He'd taken one look around the crowded room with all of those choices and hightailed it out of there (not that he'd ever admit to being intimidated by a serving line, of all things). There were just too many watchful eyes and too many choices that he knew he wasn't capable of making. So he remained in his room and tried to remember even the simplest, most basic things about who he was. Anything at all that might help him face the everyday decisions that the world took for granted. Most people decided what to wear to work; he decided which weapons to holster. Others ordered lunch; he ordered deaths. He wanted that to change, or to at least be able to balance those two worlds.

And this simple, wonderful bucket of chicken – of all things, _chicken_ – had brought him one baby step closer to the light.

He dared a glance at Lina, noting the soft smile she tried to hide as she focused on uncapping her bottle of water, giving him a semblance of privacy. "If you like the chicken, then you're going to love the fries," was all she said. He was grateful for her discretion. "I know you're hungry – I heard that belly rumble – so eat up. You look slightly less emaciated than a scarecrow."

Or maybe not.

He scowled and polished off the second chicken thigh before reaching into the bag to grab a fry. James glared at the little golden potato slice as if it had mortally offended him and chomped down on it.

Another flavor explosion. He reveled in it.

Once their meal was completed – James ate the vast majority of the food and almost felt guilty for depriving her of such scrumptious food. Almost. – Lina knelt on the floor by her heavy backpack, unloading stacks of books by the bookcase.

"You asked for books, and books you shall receive. Okay, these –" she gestured to three thin ones "—are poetry that should really catch you up and give you a sense of the latter half of the 20th century. I chose three of the most influential poets: Langston Hughes, Robert Frost, and Maya Angelou. These four are historical accounts of the end of WWII, the Cold War, and Vietnam. They don't get graphic or gory, they deal purely with politics, events, and attitudes. That's why I chose these; I don't want you to have any bad reactions. The guilt would be… Anyway, here are a couple popular novels that make for fun reading, and a Hemingway, just because I finished teaching it today. This one here is a fact book that can answer almost any question you might have about anything from 1960 til now in American culture. Last, but certainly not least, are the first three books in the Harry Potter series. It's fantastic; it's categorized as a young adult series, but it has adult themes and ideas. I would guarantee that you'd love it, but I don't know you well enough."

James was left reeling at how fast she could talk when she got excited. Her eyes lit up and her gestures became more animated, something he found to be a little charming. It was refreshing to see that such innocent delight still remained in the world. "_A children's series? Is that some kind of jab at my intelligence_?" he asked with an upward quirk of his lips, standing to start shelving the books.

_God, he almost looked like the version of himself in that picture._ Lina gaped at him for a moment, blinking. "_Of course not; the fact that you thought it was an insult is the real jab to it._" She said it in as nice of a teasing tone as she could muster, even throwing in a smile for good measure.

The lip-quirk turned into a smirk as he lifted one of the books – the Hemingway – and began leafing through it casually. His brow furrowed, creating a little wrinkle at the bridge of his nose.

"_Is something wrong?_" Lina quickly stood in case she needed to do… something. Run, fight, try to catch him if he fainted – she didn't know.

James shook his head slowly, and she noticed that he had showered. His chocolaty hair was clean and looked softer than a baby blanket. He hadn't shaved, however, and the scruff was on the verge of becoming a full-fledged beard.

His eyes flicked up to meet hers and then back down to the pages. He looked…sheepish. "_I… I think I've read this before…_"

"It wouldn't be surprising," she said soothingly. "It was published in 1926, and was quite popular."

His eyes met hers again and her heart slammed against her ribs at the sheer desperation that welled in them. He wanted so much to remember, wanted so much to have something normal and good, that the little flickers of familiarity were more torturous than helpful. Lina took a cautious step towards him, never breaking eye contact, and placed a gentle hand on his arm – the flesh and blood one. She wanted to be sure he could feel the comfort she was trying to provide.

Lina wanted to say something, anything, to make him feel better, but, in the irony of all ironies, words were not her strong suit when it came to moments like this. She chose to let her actions do all the talking for her as she slowly brought his arms down around her waist and looped hers around his. She knew better than to try hugging him around the neck; he'd just take it as a threat.

James stiffened, not knowing how to react. He hadn't been touched like this since… before he could remember. The only others who had been this close to him had been fighting him in hand-to-hand combat, or had been women he'd used and discarded while in the field as The Winter Soldier. As this fell into neither the 'threat' nor the 'fucking' categories, he was at a loss for a response. Sure, she seemed nice and she was offering her affection freely, but this kind of contact was alien to him.

His arms, of their own volition, wrapped themselves around Lina's soft waist and pulled her closer as he relaxed a little and buried his face in her hair as subtly as possible. James decided to follow his body's instinctive response and was rewarded for it with a infinitesimal sense of peace.

_It's nice to be comforted_, he thought absently as the soft smell of citrus and sunshine tickled his nose.


	4. Chapter 4

Three chapters in, and the feedback has been utterly incredible. I'm overwhelmed by the positive reception of this little idea I couldn't shake. Thank you all so much for your kind words and encouragement to continue. It means a lot, especially this early in the ballgame.

Ahem. Anyway, yes. Feelings and allusions to athletic events. Now, on to what you're all actually here for. Heigh ho, Silver!

* * *

_**Chapter 4**_

"Quand il me prend dans ses bras  
Il me parle tout bas  
Je vois la vie en rose.

"Il me dit des mots d'amour  
Des mots de tous les jours  
Et ça me fait quelque chose…"

-Edith Piaf, "La Vie en Rose"

Lina continued to cradle James against her, gently rubbing his lower back in a soothing circular motion. If she had to venture a guess, she'd say he probably wasn't used to any kind of physical contact that was about comfort and intimacy – at least, post-Soviet tinkering him wasn't. Maybe the pre-fall him wasn't either; maybe it was all about the chase and the passion then too, just in a different way than his Winter Soldier years. Maybe the absence of comfort while always providing it (her thoughts flashed to Steve Rogers for a moment) was a constant theme throughout his life.

She resolved then and there to give as much to this shattered shell of a man as she possibly could, assignment be damned. Lina's thin arms clenched a little tighter around James' waist as a protective instinct kicked in, and she felt his nose lightly nuzzle the top of her head. If Fury didn't like her level of investment, then he should have ushered someone else into this bare little room with him.

Both were unaware of how much time passed while they stood wrapped around each other, and neither particularly cared. Lina was willing to hold him as long as he needed, and James… James was fighting against himself. The overwhelming pressure of not knowing anything about himself and his past – the parts he wanted to remember, not the assassinations or the Soviets and their torture chair, not the empty, vacant women given to him for the amusement of his masters – threatened to tear him into a million tiny pieces that would never be put back together. If he let go of Lina, his lifeline, then he would splinter and break.

After a long while, Lina's muscles began tiring out as they were unused to standing still for so long. Gently, carefully, she partially detangled herself from him and led them both to the bed. She sat with her back to the corner and moved his pillow, a thin, stiff thing with no stuffing (she'd bring him a couple of better ones that weekend), behind her back. Her legs stretched out before her, crossed at the ankles, the picture of ease. James stood awkwardly by her feet (her legs stuck off the side of the bed from the middle of her calves), entirely unsure of himself. He shuffled – shuffled! – his feet, immediately embarrassing himself.

He was a world-class sniper, a super soldier, and a former sergeant who miraculously survived a fall from a moving train in the mountains during WWII. Really, his continued existence was some kind of messed up miracle, so a woman lounging in his standard issue military-grade bed should _not_ be making him nervous enough to shuffle his feet.

And now he was fighting the urge to fidget the way he'd seen her do. Great.

His uncertainty was endearing and a little adorable, but Lina didn't have the heart to raise his blood pressure anymore. She pat the space next to her, smiling a little as he slowly moved to occupy it while working to maintain a respectful distance between them. She tucked some errant curls behind her ears, straightened her glasses, and asked softly, "_Did the hug help any_?"

_Yes_, he thought with a trickle of relief as he recalled the feeling of her arms around his middle. James felt that the immediate threat of falling apart was held at bay. For the moment, anyway. He glanced at the wild-haired woman from the corner of his eye and gave her a minute nod.

"Good. I'm going to need you to lie down with your head in my lap, okay? I won't hurt you, _mais_ _j'ai tu besoin avoir confiance en moi_." (but I need you to trust me.)

Slowly, painfully slowly, he did as she asked. This put him in a vulnerable position, and having someone over his head like that was strongly reminiscent of being in that thrice-damned chair that always resulted in his brain being wiped and rebooted. James protectively crossed his arms over his chest, heart beginning to hammer against his ribs, and he worked to control his breathing, eyes squeezed shut against the barrage of painful memories.

"Hey, hey, hey. Shhh. You're okay. You're safe. _ Tu es bien_, Sarge. You're fine," she murmured, as she stroked his hair with her right hand, prepared for this kind of reaction. "I'm sorry to have ended the hug, but it was either sit or keel over in front of you. I'm not quite ready to embarrass myself in front of you." Her throaty chuckle calmed him some.

When her free hand found his left wrist – his metal wrist – his eyes shot open. He ceased all movement, even stilled his breathing, dreading the fear, disgust, and derision he was absolutely positive would follow. But when she trailed her fingers down between his, when she didn't treat it as an abnormality, he was able to breathe freely again. How she stomached his grotesque, unnatural limb – how she brought herself to touch it – was completely beyond him. He could barely stand to look at the thing. _Don't think about that now. Save it for later, when she's gone. _

Lina's thin fingers continued running through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp now and again. She could feel him starting to relax just the slightest bit now that his waves of negative association and shock had passed. Her bespectacled eyes lingered on the juxtaposition of his vibranium hand and her flesh-and-blood one. His was large enough to envelop hers easily, broad and engineered to be strong. Her thin, bony extremity would offer about as much resistance as a wet tissue would offer a fingernail. The silvery metal cast strange, distorted reflections due to the way it was plated (designed to absorb the shocks of blows delivered). It was well-crafted, and beautiful in an inhuman, macabre way. Lina knew nothing of the mechanics and engineering such a high-tech piece would require – that was her father's forte – but she could appreciate quality machinery when she saw it.

At some point during her curious study of his arm, James began tensing up again as he fought against some of his demons. It jolted her out of her reverie, and she began to softly hum the melody her grandmother's favorite song.

The tune was vaguely familiar to James, like a light tickle. "_Sing it. I need to hear the words._" If she didn't know better, she'd say his tone was almost pleading. He didn't strike her as the begging type.

Lina's eyes had widened at his request, and she hesitantly complied. "Hold me close and hold me fast; this magic spell you cast, this is la vie en rose." Her voice was soft and high, breathy. It wasn't the best or most beautiful voice, but, in that moment, it was his favorite in the whole world. "When you kiss me heaven sighs, and, though I close my eyes, I see la vie en rose. When you press me to your heart, I'm in a world apart, a world where roses bloom. And when you speak the angels sing from above; everyday words seem to turn into love songs…."

James felt his body relax, truly relax, into the sunshine and meadows he could hear in her voice as she sang a song that he knew. _That's a ridiculous thought; no one can have that in their voice_, he chastised. But then again… _That's a ridiculous, silly thought. That's a wonderful, ridiculous, silly thought. No way in hell am I taking it back; no one knows about it but me. It's all mine, just mine. There isn't anyone here to take it from me. I'm going to keep it,_ he thought lazily._ I think this might be the greatest song in human history…._

He fell into a relaxed, natural doze for the first time in decades. He didn't sleep, but he drifted in that gray area in between. It had been a long, unknowable amount of time since he could last accomplish entering this kind of state, or a full sleep, without pushing himself past the edge of exhaustion.

Lina felt the tension melt away from James and watched his eyes close as he drifted off. She continued to quietly hum the song that the weary soldier seemed to like. It brought him some peace, at any rate. She resolved to stay until he woke up. Ziggy had been fed that morning, so she'd be fine, and Lina had no papers to grade. It wouldn't hurt anyone if she stayed…

The steady in-and-out of James' breath in the otherwise silent room put Lina into a stupor. He was warm in her lap, and she was fighting off yawns. Maybe a cat-nap would be okay.

* * *

Consciousness rushed back to her all at once in that harsh way that comes from being slammed back into reality. Or into the door on the opposite side of the room. In the seconds it took for her to realize what was happening, she was lifted from her slumped position on the ground to dangle against the wall by the throat.

She gasped for air and clawed at the cold metal wrist that had her pinned to the wall by the bed. The grip was so tight that she couldn't get any sound out except a high-pitched whimper. _Come on, any day now, back up._

Somehow she gathered enough force to land a solid kick to his unprotected stomach. The surprise of the blow made him drop her, and she landed on her tailbone again, just knowing it would bruise and that sitting would hurt. Lina panicked when he straightened up, refocused on her, so she grabbed the first thing her hand came into contact with – a copy of _An Idea Whose Time Has Come_ – and threw it at him. It hit his right shoulder and bounced harmlessly to the ground.

She gasped for breath as he took a step closer to her, intent on finishing the job this time. "James, _arrêtes!_" Lina croaked desperately. (Stop!)

He halted, looking at her curiously with his empty blue eyes. _At least if I die, I'll die looking at something pretty_, she thought, pulse racing.

"James… That's my name, isn't it?" He took a moment to turn that over in his head and take in his surroundings; he knew that if she tried anything, his far superior reflexes would kick in. He felt no trepidation over her threat level. Come to think of it, while she may have taken him by surprise, he really didn't think the bookish looking blonde could do much damage. "And this is my room."

"Yes." Lina placed a cool palm to her throat. "You're Sergeant James Barnes, and these are your quarters."

He frowned, that pucker reappearing between his eyebrows. His eyes were no longer empty; no, they were clouded and chaotic. He was warring with himself, struggling to make the short-term connections in his tormented brain after sleeping for a full REM cycle. The space was familiar, he knew it was his, but she was less so. She posed a threat to his sanctuary and well-being. But he still recognized her on some level. "You… you're the one who sang to me."

She carefully nodded.

"'La Vie en Rose.'"

Another nod.

"Lina?" When she gave a third little nod, he backed himself up to the corner created by the head of the cot and the wall opposite her. His beautiful blue eyes filled with tears. "Oh, god, Lina. I am so sorry. I – I never meant… You're hurt and I did…" James pulled his knees to his chest as the full weight of what had just happened came back to him, and he hid his face in his hands, shoulders heaving with the force of his sobs.

Lina stayed sitting for another moment while her vision cleared of little black spots before gingerly making her way to the traumatized man huddled on the ground. Getting him to calm down and accept that the incident wasn't his fault was her first priority. She could take care of herself later, where James couldn't see. "Hey, Sarge, _regardez-moi_." (Look at me.)

He refused, shaking his head violently.

She hissed as she crouched in front of him, back and butt already smarting. "James... James, look at me, please." Lina grabbed onto his knees so she could keep her balance. When he still wouldn't look at her, she barked, "Barnes,_ look at me,_" in the harshest Russian she could muster.

His head snapped up, stormy blue eyes wide.

"Sorry," she winced. "I just needed to get your attention. Mind if we move this little chat up to the bed? Sitting like this hurts a bit."

When he realized why she was so uncomfortable, he locked his hands around her upper arms and rushed to his feet, pulling her with him to the edge of the mussed bed. It was the first time James had seen it look less than perfectly made.

"— any idea what triggered that?" Lina was saying.

James nodded minutely, staring disgustedly at his hands. He could just imagine all the blood he had on them, and it sickened him to know that he'd almost upped his body count by one. By the one person he could stand to see sitting beside him and helping him. James knew that Captain America would leap at the chance, but he couldn't trust himself not to revert back to his previous kill-mission. He needed someone new, someone neutral and previously unrelated to him, someone who would allow him to rediscover himself and allow him to discover the changes his life had wrought without pushing any preconceptions onto him. He needed Lina, and he'd almost killed her.

"Do you mind telling me about it?" she asked softly, taking his fleshy hand in both of hers.

He swallowed raggedly. "It was… I was sleeping. I was sleeping and dreaming about dancing to that song. Women's skirts were twirling, the room was smoky, and the sound was tinny. I saw a man at the bar with black hair and a scar down his face. He led me outside – I was wearing an old dress uniform – and then I was strapped down to the chair, but instead of wiping my mind, they were just using it to torture…." Her hands squeezed his gently. He swallowed again, eyes trained on the expanse of floor visible between his feet. Lina noticed that his feet were bare (he was restricted from having any shoes that laced up; the laces were a potential weapon) and made a mental note to bring him some thick socks. "Then I guess I felt your hand on my cheek and went into Winter Soldier mode…"

"Well, it's over now, and no one is any worse for the wear. No real damage was done –" He snorted. "— seriously. _No one died, no one was shot or stabbed, and no tranquilizer darts were used. Nightmares are a normal part of this; it'll take time to overcome them, but it's something you're going to have to deal with. Talk to me, or talk to a professional, but don't avoid sleeping_. It can't be healthy, even for a super-person."

"_I'm not going to talk to anyone. I'm not crazy; I don't need help_." His eyes flashed adamantly.

"_The past ten minutes beg to differ with that last statement_," she countered wryly.

He cast his gaze around the room again, taking in the extent of the damage. There was a small crater in the wall where he'd thrown her, and her glasses lay on the floor nearby. He got up to fetch them for her, stepping over the books that were now strewn about haphazardly. One in particular caught his eye as it lay open, pages down, further away than it should rightly be.

James turned his head to Lina. "Did you throw a _book_ at me?" he asked in a voice full of bemusement and wonder.

She blushed and nodded timidly, free hand tugging at her hair as he slid the glasses onto her face. They covered those green eyes (_green and amber, like a forest in the summer_, he thought) once more, and he grabbed her hand again.

He snorted his amusement, shaking his head. "_You're nuts._" The gentle squeeze he gave her hand lessened any slight sting his comment might have caused.

Neither of them noticed the figures standing in the now-open doorway. "It's good to see that you haven't succeeded in killing each other so far."

They both stiffened and turned to face Fury, like children caught doing something wrong. Lina's mind immediately protested that notion. "Glad to see you took some sensitivity training during your little sabbatical last year," she snapped. "If you were so worried about one of us killing the other, why didn't anybody step in to prevent exactly that?"

James stayed silent, eyes locked on his hands, utterly ashamed of his actions. He already felt awful for attacking Lina the way he had, and Fury's disapproving presence was compounding on it. Maybe they'd come to escort her away from him, to ban her from ever seeing him again; it would probably be best for her, in the long run. But as crazy and as selfish as it was, James _really_ did not want that to happen. He'd had more fleeting moments of peace with her in this one visit than he'd had in… well, for as long as he could remember. He wasn't ready to lose those few seconds of contentment so soon after having them unexpectedly turn up. James knew better than to hope this would end happily for him; if life had taught him anything, it was that.

"It didn't look like you needed much outside assistance. We needed to assess your ability to handle a threat to your person in the form of Sergeant Barnes, here."

Lina glowered at the tall, dark-skinned man. "So this was all a test?"

"It was rather unexpected since no one expected the two of you to fall asleep together." Fury glared disapprovingly at the pair. "But yes."

"Did we _pass_?" she growled, scowling harder. Her honey-blonde curls seemed to crackle with her anger.

James could feel the tension and anger radiating from her as she addressed her superior. He couldn't blame her; he wasn't exactly thrilled with the situation either, but she had more of a right to be upset. It was her life the intelligence organization had been playing with. He gave her hands another squeeze, surprised when she squeezed back.

Fury rolled his good eye at the blonde. Even when she stood, he towered over her, so this was really something akin to a toy poodle snarling at a mastiff. "Agent, you're not in grade school anymore. Does a pass or fail _really _matter to you?"

She scoffed, gingerly touching her bruised throat. "Yeah, I'd say that, in this case, it does."

"Yes. You excelled with _flying colors_. I'll be sure to put a gold star in your case file. Get to the infirmary, agent. And be sure not to doze off here again. I expect a written report on my desk by Sunday evening." With one final, pointed look, he swept out of the room, his escort of two identical agents behind him.

Lina sighed, slumping down against James' shoulder. "I really hate confrontations like that… Ugh, come on. Let's go get checked out."

James helped her to her feet and followed her down to the infirmary. Never once did she let go of his hand.

* * *

Lina unlocked the door to her apartment, throwing her bags down with a relieved sigh. The day had turned into something of a roller coaster of feelings and (narrowly escaped) death, and she wanted a bubble bath.

The sound of Ziggy's racing paws against the wood floor and jingling collar brought a smile to Lina's face, and she bent down to scratch the sweet cat behind her ears, eliciting a loud, rumbling purr. She made her way to the bathroom, and immersed herself in the steaming, citrus-scented water as soon as she possibly could. Ziggy perched on the edge of the tub to make sure her mistress wasn't planning on leaving or forgetting about her again anytime soon. The cat took priority to the outside world, as far as said cat was concerned.

Her throat ached and she still had trouble drawing breath, but that should clear up in a couple of days. It was the bruising she was really worried about. The weather was turning colder as the leaves changed, so scarves were now a practical, unremarkable option for covering up outside, but in the office and the lecture hall was a different story. Turtlenecks were too restricting and led to anxiety attacks, which her students did _not_ need to see. There was only so much makeup could do to hide the black and blue marks around her windpipe, and she didn't think that Selma or David would by a story about her new-found kinkiness... The best thing to do to avoid raising unpleasant questions was either lie about a mugging gone wrong, or take time off work. That would involve yet another lie.

Lina sighed, running a washcloth over her pale body. She really hated dishonesty. She hated that she was so experienced at it even more.

She continued to soak in her warm bath, absently flicking water at Ziggy. _I hate lying, but I hate looks of shock and pity even more. I don't want to be coddled, like David would do. And Selma would just be absolutely smothering. But I can't miss a week's pay. Scarves _are_ the 'in' accessories right now. Maybe I'll experiment with being fashionable..._ Mind made up, she slowly, painfully hoisted herself out of the tub and rubbed herself dry with a big, fluffy yellow towel.

Only once she was settled in bed, wearing her favorite pajamas (worn, flannel Houston Texans pants and a soft baseball tee) and sharing a bowl of ice cream with Ziggy, did Lina allow herself to really feel the fear from James' attack. She had known it was only a matter of time before something like that happened, but she had been so unprepared... Lina tried to control the force of her sobs so that she might spare her already-battered throat, but it wasn't possible. She gasped for air, fat tears sliding down her cheeks. She had almost died that night, and hadn't been able to do more than compartmentalize and react during those tense moments. James had needed her to be strong afterwards so that he didn't feel even worse. That would do nothing but stymie any progress he could hope to make in the coming weeks. Lina knew the guilt was probably eating him up, but that was something she'd help him overcome later. Right now she just wanted to wail and cry and be held by her mom.

She was scared, scared by the close brush with death; scared by the feeling of grappling futilely at cold metal around her neck; scared by the empty, mindless rage she had seen in James' eyes. Now she knew how the targets of the Winter Soldier had felt, and it scared her even more.

The feeling of a rough, sandpapery little tongue licking her tears away brought her back from her thoughts. Lina put the empty bowl on her nightstand and scooped Ziggy up for a night of cuddling. Lina fell asleep to the sweet sound of a low purr.


	5. Chapter 5

Wow, thank you for the feedback! I really love hearing from you guys; it warms my heart. Also, I went through the other chapters and fixed some rather annoying errors, and added a couple tidbits I meant to, but forgot about until the other day. It's nothing major, it won't change the storyline at all, but I just thought some of you might like to know.

Just a side note: whenever I post lyrics at the beginnings of chapters, that's usually the song I listened to while writing, or, at least, the song that set the tone of the chapter for me.

Happy Friday! Or it would have been if I could have uploaded it yesterday... Happy Saturday!

* * *

_**Chapter 5**_

"I'll be your harvester of light  
And send it out tonight,  
So we can start again."

- "Winter Song," Sara Bareilles ft. Ingrid Michaelson

The sunlight filtering through the gauzy white curtains tickled Lina's eyes as she begrudgingly awoke to the feeling of a tail tickling her nose. She groaned, not ready to leave her warm, comfy bed just yet. Her sleep had been plagued with nightmares and imagination-altered memories, and just an hour of undisturbed sleep would be just _heavenly._ Knowing her human was awake, Ziggy leapt onto her stomach and began kneading happily. Lina didn't know how, but every single time the damn cat managed to land right on her bladder, effectively insuring that the woman would crawl out of bed and fill the food bowl – after a pit stop. She avoided looking in the mirror, knowing the bruises would have continued to darken overnight. She wasn't ready to see the extent of the damage a high-tech metal prosthetic could wreak.

She started the coffee maker, fed the cat, and set some hash browns a-sizzling in the cozy little kitchen attached to the living room. The oak counters and cupboards practically glowed in the morning light, making the room feel even warmer than it usually did. Lina loved her kitchen; it wasn't the biggest or the fanciest. The appliances were several years old, and she didn't have a dishwasher, but the deep pantry and laundry room more than made up for it. The walls were a mint green with white crown and kick molding that was left over from the 1930s, when the building was erected. The floors were still the original wood too.

Lina had managed to get a corner unit, so there were windows on both of the kitchen walls, one that opened up to reveal an empty flower box (she had a black thumb) over the sink, and a large bay window in front of her little, round wooden dining table and chairs that was rarely used for more than a holding ground for books, papers, and an empty fish bowl (Ziggy's constant drinking from the bowl had sent the poor betta into heart failure, and Lina hadn't gotten another one). The bay window ledge was where Ziggy preferred to sun herself in the morning.

The coffee pot beeped, and Lina poured the steaming black liquid into her favorite mug, a giant rounded yellow thing with a black smiley face painted on one side. After dumping in enough sugar to send someone into a diabetic coma, she took a long draw and hummed contentedly, decidedly _not_ thinking about the events of last night, and flipping the potatoes so the other side could reach the same golden brown.

Plate, fork, salt, pepper, and Tabasco at the ready, she began frying a couple of eggs in another skillet to eat over the hash browns.

Her mother, Eileen, was a good ol' Texas girl who had taught her only daughter to love eating all things fried. It was a staple in their family; every Saturday and Sunday morning, without fail, there was a feast of bacon, eggs over easy, hash browns, grits, biscuits and gravy, strong coffee, and ham laid out buffet-style in the kitchen. The family would parade through, filling their plates multiple times, and sitting around the large dining room, chatting animatedly. Eileen's parents, her Creole mother, Henrietta, and her husband, Gerard, were always the first ones at the table, except Lina's father, Beniamin (or Benjamin, as his father-in-law insisted on calling the proud Romanian man). Lina and her two older brothers were usually the last to join.

His parents had both died ten years prior, his mother, Elke, the beautiful German woman who had been her husband's nurse assistant in WWII, to Hodgkin's lymphoma, and his father, Grigore, of a broken heart two months later. Grigore had been raised by an affluent family in Bucharest and sent to medical school. He graduated just as war broke out, and immediately volunteered as a medic. He was accepted and trained in London, where he met Elke. Her family had defected after one of Hitler's SS approached them about donating to the Cause, implications of harm hanging heavily throughout the conversation if the Fuhrer was refused. They packed up their car and drove towards the border that same night. They bought tickets to England, where Elke, just recently turned eighteen, volunteered as a nurse. She was assigned to Dr. Grigore Balitiu's service, and that was it. They married after Elke's parents were killed in one of the London bombings.

Their son was raised speaking Russian (as most of the affluent Romanians do), Romanian, German, and English. He went on to study engineering and physics, and was currently employed at NASA, in Houston.

Lina topped off her coffee and took the food off the stove, doused it in seasoning and moved to the living room where she turned on the morning news for background noise. She settled into the plush red sofa, finally allowing herself to go over the past forty-eight hours.

First, the love of her professional life – S.H.I.E.L.D. – calls and brings her back into the fold. If they had more work for her, she'd happily quit teaching and go to the intelligence agency full-time. However, since she was currently assigned to James, and he needed her full attention, she knew that probably wasn't going to happen anytime soon. If the opportunity arose, she'd have to talk to Fury or someone about rejoining on a full-time basis… Anyway, she was overjoyed when she got the call, and so excited. She loved working as a translator, and the occasional travel had made it an almost ideal job.

Lina also had no problem with being assigned to work with James. He was fluent in her two favorite languages, and fun to banter with, when he would allow himself that freedom.

Second, there was James. He was gorgeous in the broody, deep, tall-dark-and-handsome kind of way. Well, not tall. Stocky. He still stood a good six inches over her, though. Tall enough. The banter was fun, and he could be so vulnerable… She had seen it during their hug the previous evening, and in his face beforehand. When he realized who she was and that he'd hurt her, almost killed her, really, he had been on the verge of an emotional collapse. The guilt in his eyes would have broken her heart if said organ hadn't been beating almost fast enough to send her into heart failure.

Third, James had almost killed her. It was bone-chillingly frightening to stare into familiar, unseeing eyes while praying to God, or the Universe, or the Flying Spaghetti Monster – really, anyone or thing that was listening would do – that that was not going to be her last day on earth. That emptiness, the ease with which he had fallen back into assassin-mode was terrifying. He had started regaining signs of life, signs of being that man in the picture, and then boom! raging killing machine. Lina knew it wasn't his fault; none of it was his fault. His brain had been tinkered and toyed with by Russians, his body had been tampered with by the Nazis _and _the Russians, and now S.H.I.E.L.D. was working on undoing all of the mental damage with talk therapy (which he had been refusing for three months) and a rehabilitation buddy.

_He's probably going to retreat within himself and refuse to talk to anyone, especially me, after last night. Dammit…_ Lina sighed and sipped her coffee. _I'll just have to keep trying; I mean, setbacks are to be expected. It's normal. This one happened early on, so I can coax him out again. Maybe fried chicken part 2? I mean, it worked the first time, so why shouldn't it work again? Oh! I need to take him pillows and socks. Right. And maybe some clothes, so he has more than two pairs of sweatpants. _

She froze mid-sip. _I… I have to go back. Today. This afternoon. I'm committed. The assignment requires it, and I made a promise to him. He may not know about it, but I did. I promised I'd help him, help bring some light and stability to his life. Oh, god. I have to go back…_ The thought nearly made her cry again as her throat throbbed at the thought. It wasn't the notion of seeing James again that scared her, it was going back into that room that probably still had proof of last night's goings-on that had her shaking like a leaf. She didn't want to see the aftermath. No cratered drywall, no scattered books or mussed bed. No mournful, dull blue eyes.

_Snap out of it. You've done it before – cleaned up after it before. It's different now. You're smarter now, and more than willing to fight back. You kicked James in the gut, for crying out loud. That took some balls, winding the Winter Soldier. Plus, you have your knives now. Wear them from here on out, and you should be good. Okay. See? This is good. You've got this. Take your time getting ready; paint your nails, wear makeup, look cute, get him those clothes, and drink more coffee. It'll almost be like last night never happened. _

Pep talk over and feeling moderately more cheerful, Lina did exactly that. She washed up in the kitchen, took a long shower where she washed her hair and shaved, and sat down in her silk, black and floral robe to paint her fingernails. She used her favorite hunter green, so dark it was almost black. While her thick curls air-dried, Lina wrestled some contacts in and applied light makeup (still avoiding looking at her neck) and winged eyeliner. Why not, right? She had managed to stay alive for another night, so why not go a little crazy with the eyeliner. The reasoning seemed pretty sound to her….

Finally, after pulling on some cute underthings and her favorite blue jeans, she looked at the damage done to her throat in the bathroom mirror.

Dark bruises ringed her windpipe, four lines on the left side of her throat and one on the right, marking where his fingers and thumb had been. A mottled, oblong bruise, with patches of pink flesh peeping through sat right over her esophagus. It hurt to swallow and contract the tender muscles, so she knew that speaking would be interesting. Thank goodness for cute scarves.

She stubbornly turned her back on the mirror and flicked off the lights, walking back into her bedroom to finish dressing for the day. She had laid out a long-sleeved black shirt with a lace stripe reveal the skin of her shoulders and upper arms, a creamy white cotton and lace scarf, and her favorite pair of boots, all black leather and slouchy, with just enough of a heel make her feel tall. It gave her just the right amount of confidence to be able to strut back into Room 42 and shake James Barnes out of whatever funk he might have sunk into.

Throwing on her hunter green wool peacoat and snatching up her purse and two spare pillows (with some dove gray pillowcases that were soft enough to feel like silk), Lina strode out the door to face the day.

* * *

One stop at a Walmart (she'd been looked at like a crazy person for bringing in two pillows, but whatever. That could not _possibly_ be the strangest thing to happen in a Walmart) and a Chinese place later, she and her load wandered into "Acme Paper Co." Some guy was causing a ruckus, saying "excuse me" over and over again, loudly in the atrium. His voice carried, but Lina just figured it was some schmuck of a young agent or paper pusher frantically going about his job. She paid the guy no mind as she wound her way to the elevators. It was the middle of the day, so she probably wasn't going to have to share.

She stepped onto the first one to arrive and, just as the doors were sliding closed, a tan, well-muscled arm shoved its way through. They slid back open to reveal none other than the star-spangled man with a plan, Captain America. Lina's eyes widened. She'd never been in the same room as a superhero before, especially one as adored and drooled over as Captain America.

"Holy moly, Batman," she whispered.

He quirked a bemused eyebrow at her. "Excuse me, miss. You're Agent Balitiu, right?"

She could only nod.

"Ah. Well…" The guy blushed – _blushed_ – and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly when he realized she was tongue-tied. "I'm – ah – I'm Steve Rogers. Fury told me that you're the one assigned to help Bucky?"

Lina frowned. "Bucky?" Her voice was rough and sandpapery. Dammit.

"Sergeant James Barnes? Growing up, he used to prefer being called 'Bucky.' It suited him then."

"Oh, yes. James. I'm working with him, yes. Oh! I'm sorry for being rude! I'm Lina Balitiu. Just call me Lina. Sorry for the staring… I got a little star-struck, there…" She shifted the bags and pillows around so she could offer him a hand to shake. "What can I help you with, Captain?"

The all-American dreamboat shyly retracted his hand. "Fury showed me the footage of what happened last night, and I just wanted to make sure you were alright. He never used to be like that; actually, he was quite the charmer back in Brooklyn. The thought of hurting a dame never once crossed his mind." Lina raised her eyebrows. "Not that you're a dame or anything… Uh. Sorry. It's just the Hydra training that took over, I know it was."

"Don't you fret over me, I'm fine." She mustered a bright smile. "There are glimmers of that man, the one from before Hydra got hold of him, but they're just that, glimmers. I know it wasn't a conscious decision to hurt me. Trust me, this isn't my first rodeo," she offered wryly.

Steve nodded, "Yes, ma'am. I know that Bucky's still in there, somewhere. I saw it in his eyes. He saved me the day the helicarriers went down. He's still in there. Don't give up on him, please. If you need any help with _anything_ regarding his recovery, please get in touch with me." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, bashfully telling her, "I'd appreciate it if you would also send me updates on him."

She smiled sweetly at his awkwardness, and set down her load to do as he asked. "Okay, I'm calling you right now so you'll have my number."

Once the exchange was done, Steve pushed the door open button and stepped out. Lina threw an arm out, forcing the doors back open. "Hey, Captain?"

The tall blond man turned to face her curiously. "Ma'am?"

"James is lucky to have a friend like you, whether he realizes it or not. Don't forget that."

Steve smiled gently, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans, as he nodded his thanks.

Lina allowed the doors to close and went through the security protocols that sent her whooshing down below the surface of the earth.

Bags and pillows back in her arms (after a little struggle and frustration), she walked down the corridors that would deposit her back in James' room. Her original confident, brisk pace slowed the closer she got. She really didn't want to go back in there. James needed her to, but all of her fight or flight instincts were screaming _flight_. All Lina wanted to do was hide under her comforter with the cat and some chocolate.

After a moment, she realized that her feet had led her right to his door while she was thinking about running away. Filled with trepidation, she kicked at the bottom of the door so he'd come let her in.

Nothing.

She kicked again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Lina frowned. _Really? After last night, and now me lugging this stuff down here, he's not going to answer? Men._

She kicked at it again and again and again, loud and annoying enough to make him get up and let her in just to put a stop to the racket.

He still didn't open the door.

Lina put her ear up against the wood, listening for any signs of life. Nothing. Just the silence of an empty room.

_Could he… Did he… Is he wandering around? Someone would have told me if he had staged an escape, right?_ A little dramatic, but give a girl a break.

She sighed and slid slowly down the wall to wait. She set her bags to one side and clutched the pillows tightly against her chest, knees drawn up, as she sat awkwardly in the hallway, tailbone smarting. A couple of agents passed by, dressed for a workout, and eyed her strangely. Lina smiled sweetly back at them, and then stuck her tongue out at their retreating backs.

"_Very mature._"

Lina nearly jumped six inches off the ground. "_James! I'd thought you ran away! Don't scare me like that, you ass."_

He merely cocked a brow at her and the strange assortment of things by her side.

"_Help me with these, please?_"

He did just that, offering her a hand to rise, promptly dropping it like a hot potato to grab the bags.

She opened the door, and set the pillows at the head of the bed that was, once again, neatly made with hospital corners and everything. Lina pointedly avoided looking at the still-present indentation of her back on the wall.

"_I stopped to get you some clothes; I wasn't sure about your sizes, had to guess, but I figured that would be better than the same two outfits day in and day out. There are some nice, thick socks in there too to help keep the chill off your feet._"

He nodded, emptying each Walmart bag neatly into a drawer. He froze when he pulled out a six-pack of boxer-briefs. "_You… you bought shorts?_"

"Yeah."

"_You bought me men's shorts_?"

"Yeah…"

"_They allowed you to go in and buy men's shorts?_"

"Oh, sweetie, you really haven't been shopping in a long time, have you? Yes, women can buy men's undergarments. It's not shameful or taboo. It's really not that big a deal. Don't be embarrassed; it's not like I'm going to know which color you're wearing on any given day. There's also some deodorant, and hair ties in there, you know, in case you feel like hitting the gym or something."

James nodded and tucked the offending items into the top drawer with the socks, still avoiding looking at her.

Lina shrugged offer her coat, folding it neatly at the foot of the bed. "I also brought Chinese food. There's some fried rice, steamed rice, lo mein, egg rolls, cashew chicken, General Tso's chicken, and a crap-ton of soy sauce. I got a lot so you can find something you like."

He turned and sat on the floor, shoulders pressed back against the mattress, and accepted a carton of food and a fork. He still hadn't looked at Lina, having noticed the strategic scarf. Shame flooded him as the memories of the previous night's events replayed in his mind. He'd almost killed the woman who'd been nothing but kind to him. He could have snapped her neck or he could have torn her throat out. Or he could have continued squeezing until her eyes turned red, her nose bled, and her heart stopped beating. He was no stranger to those methods of destruction.

The anger, blinding and cold, that had taken control of him was all too familiar. He was alone in a room with someone who had seen his face, touched it, and he had no recollection of who she was, so he fell into survival mode. Survival was synonymous with killing.

_It's a flimsy excuse_, he thought,_ to keep hiding behind_. _ But it was the only line of logic my stupid brain needed. _

He felt… disempowered when he realized he had very little control over these episodes. It stung even more to realize just how fucked up and emasculated the Hydra mind-wipes had left him; he was nothing but a victim, a victim tormented so badly that he began inflicting pain and suffering on others, innocent and guilty alike, just to avoid being victimized again. It gave him a semblance of power, tricking him – lulling him into believing he was no longer a victim.

_I had a choice,_ that nagging, painful voice whispered to him. _I could have stopped, could have run away._

Another voice, weaker, but stubborn replied: _no, you really didn't. You have something against running away_.

The words sounded familiar. He'd said them before, in another life. In an alley, to a smaller man with sandy hair. Steve…?

"_How do you like the food_?" Lina's soft, croaky voice interrupted his thoughts, sending a thrill of mild annoyance down his spine.

"_It's fine, good._" He saw her eyes tighten out of his peripheral vision. He shoveled another forkful of noodle into his mouth.

She daintily ate some of that General something-or-other chicken, eyeing James warily. She decided to let him eat in peace. He seemed lost in thought, and wasn't taking kindly to her attempts at conversation.

_Fine, be fussy. He's moody, you expected as much, but he did leave his room earlier. That's definitely good. Just suck it up and be patient. You'll get him to talk to you, one way or another. You take after your mother, remember? Stubborn as a mule._

After a tense meal, in which the duo discovered that James liked lo mein but he most certainly did _not_ like the cashew chicken (which suited Lina just fine, as she couldn't stand the stuff either), Lina began the clean-up in the silence that James seemed intent on continuing. She even stepped outside to find some random agent – who turned out to be Clint Barton, who was on this level for whatever reason – to pawn the cashew chicken off to. The super spy eyed the blonde keeping the Winter Soldier's door cracked open strangely, almost measuring her up, but he quietly took the food and kept walking.

Once that was done, she spun back into James' room to find him in the same position as when she first met him. His head was back against the wall facing the door, knees drawn up and arms draped over them. He clearly wanted her to go, to get frustrated with him and walk out. That wasn't about to happen.

She sighed heavily, perching herself on the foot of the bed. He had moved the newer, plusher pillows there, stacked neatly, in a sign of rejection. Either he didn't think he deserved the comfort of a nice pillow, or he didn't like soft things. _If the latter's the case, he's _really_ going to hate those socks,_ Lina thought. _Most likely, he's not used to sleeping on anything soft and squishy. Most soldiers who've returned from active duty can't stand it. I'll leave them here though, just in case._

Gathering her courage, she reached her right hand out and gently rested it on his ankle while keeping her eyes glued to his. James furrowed his brow a tiny bit before smoothing his face back into impassivity.

He was determined to be difficult and drive her away.

It wasn't going to work.

"James…" Lina really had no idea what to say or do to make it better; the day after was always the worst, and she couldn't use declarations of love to smooth this one over. "_Je ne sais pas quoi dire._" (I don't know what to say.)

He remained silent and stoic.

She allowed her shaking hand to travel up the side of his calf, barely even skimming against his sweatpants, to rest lightly on his vibranium forearm, ignoring her own nerves. He tensed at the contact, and a tingle of fear shot up her spine. _Don't be a ninny, he's not going to hurt you; look at him. He's not going to do anything harmful_. It sounded like she was convincing herself.

"_C'est peut-être égoïste, mais je suis bien. Peut- être que ce n'est-pas ce que vous inquiète. Je ne sais pas, ne peux pas sais, jusqu'a ce que vous me dites. Dites-moi, James._" She gave a gentle squeeze to his arm to let him know she wasn't going anywhere. (Maybe this is selfish, but I am fine. Maybe that's not what has you upset. I don't know, can't know, until you tell me. Tell me, James.)

Slowly, ever so slowly, she moved her hand down his arm, down his wrist, to take his hand in hers. Her slender fingers wrapped around his palm, the warmth of her flesh chasing away the chill of the vibranium.

James' breathing had quickened enough to be noticeable. He swallowed raggedly, like he was forcing it past something stuck in his throat. The poor thing was striving to stay relaxed, but the swirl of his thoughts and the tempest of feelings she was bringing out in him made that nearly impossible.

His baby blue eyes cracked open to peer at the crazy woman at the foot of the bed from beneath his lashes. His brow furrowed again, and this time he didn't try to smooth it away.

When she knew she had his attention, Lina scooted closer and took his other hand in hers. "_Je suis bien, et vous êtes bien_. _Vous êtes bien, James,_" she murmured comfortingly. French really was a more soothing language that English or Russian. _"Nous sommes bien,_ _mésange_." (I am fine, and you are fine. You are fine, James. We are fine, chickadee.)

"_Avez-vous juste de m'appeler 'mèsange_?'" he croaked. (Did you just call me "chickadee?")

"Yup. Seemed sweeter than 'Sarge,'" she said with a quirk of her lips.

"Oh… _Je crois que je préfère_ 'Sarge.'" (I think I prefer Sarge.)

"_Alors il est _Sarge." (Then Sarge it is.)

"Why do I even need a nickname?"

"It's a sign of affection."

"It's only been two days; isn't that weird?"

"Only if you make it weird."

"Far be it from me to do that…" he groused.

"Perk up, buttercup. All's well, so don't be cranky."

He suddenly became serious again, frowning and pushing her hands away as he stood to pace. He wasn't even aware that he'd been holding on to her as much as she'd been holding on to him. "All is not well. I tried to kill you last night."

"You're not the first," she joked weakly. At his insistent frown, Lina sighed. "You tried, but you stopped yourself. Flashbacks happen, especially when you're startled out of sleep. It's a fairly normal reaction when someone is suffering from PTSD, like you are. Really, when you think about it, last night is on me. I should have known better than to fall asleep here."

"And I should have known better than to attack."

"_You _do; the Winter Soldier does not. It was a protective instinct that kicked in at a bad time, and that's what S.H.I.E.L.D. is here to help with. They have some pretty wonderful therapists here; have you thought about going to see one?" She pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged on the bed. "Fury suggested Dr. Reno; he's pretty great. Did my psych evals when I was first signed on." It was a half-truth, but any more than that would send him spiraling out of control with guilt again.

James paused mid-step, eyes locked on the creamy white of her scarf. "I finally decided to make an appointment with one of the shrinks. I don't want a repeat of last night…" His voice was soft, almost embarrassed, at the idea of needing help. The mentality of needing help with emotional and mental woes being shameful was an old one, possibly a subconscious remnant of his old life…?

Lina shook the fanciful notion out of her head. Now was really not the time for them. "_Tres bien,_ James. That is really great," she smiled. "When is your… appointment…?" Her words came to a screeching halt when he hesitantly, fearfully, reached his right hand out toward her scarf.

He fingered the soft cotton and rough lace, never taking his eyes off of hers. For the first time, he realized she didn't have her glasses on, giving him an unimpeded view of the dark green and gold eyes. They were probably the loveliest color he'd ever seen. Slowly, so as not to see fear in those eyes again, he crouched down and untied the scrap of fabric from around her thin, pale neck. He needed to see the damage the Winter Soldier had done, needed to see the pain he'd caused.

James needed to know what he had to work towards never doing again.

He saw her breathing hitch as he lifted her chin with two fingers, and stared at the mottled black hand print circling her delicate throat. Outlines of each finger and his thumb stood at as clear as day. Seeing the evidence of his hard life marring the flesh of an innocent made the guilt eating at him bite down harder. He traced and retraced the bruises with his eyes, scared to touch her again. He was determined not to forget this.

When she decided he had looked long enough, Lina lowered her chin to catch his eyes. He didn't flinch or balk, and he didn't even blink when her fingers ran through his hair. He was content to soak up the compassion she offered, the tenderness he saw in the green of her gaze.

She pulled his head to rest on her chest, and laid her cheek upon his soft hair. He smelled like soap and something sharp, spicy.

"_Nous sommes bien, _Sarge."


	6. Chapter 6

Hello, my loves! Real quick, I just wanted to address some concerns brought up in a couple of reviews for last chapter about the romance unfolding too quickly: I didn't intend for their actions so far to be romantic. The touches and looks are meant to convey comfort, compassion, and to show Bucky that he can touch/ let his guard down without hurting or being hurt. Yes, there's attraction because that's usually one of the first things people register about each other, but that isn't meant to be the focal point. I'm sorry if it came across that way; I'll read back through the previous chapters and fix anything that points in that direction.

Also, I have two weeks (dead week and finals week) left of my last semester as an undergrad. Three finals, a research paper, and last minute online projects that I've been procrastinating, and then I'm done. This whole "adult" thing in the "real" world is intimidating.

* * *

_**Chapter 6**_

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

– Martin Luther King, Jr.

Three days after his unconscious attack of Lina, James Barnes sat stiffly in the cool, clean office of Dr. Emil Reno. The office was all clean lines, glass and leather and wood. It was simple and unassuming, much like the man with the salt-and-pepper beard. Or, at least, that's how the doctor wanted to be perceived by those he treated, James surmised.

He sat on a black leather couch against the wall, back stiff and straight, muscles tensed in case he needed to make an escape. The modern room smelled too clean, looked too staged. It had James on edge. The books on the shelves opposite him were all leather bound and gold-embossed, but the spines showed no signs of use. The modern wooden sculptures (he just assumed that's what they were, since they just looked like randomly rounded pieces of driftwood stood on end) were set _just so_ to catch the light. The whole room just seemed too perfectly put together. That, paired with his irrational worry over breaking the delicate glass coffee table in front of him, really wasn't doing his nerves any good.

Reno himself was seated in a leather and wood arm chair that looked to be all angles and no comfort directly across from James. The man was bald, but had a full, dark beard that was peppered with white. His dark skin was wrinkled around the eyes and mouth. It looked as leathery as the chair he sat in. He was dressed well: dark gray button-up, black slacks, black leather shoes… Reno's hands were steepled together with a nice pen curled between the first fingers of his left hand. He had an ankle resting atop his right knee, and a yellow legal pad balanced there. The man was as austere as his office.

The only space that reassured James that this wasn't some elaborate set up was the desk. It was heavy, dark wood and the top of it was cluttered. Papers, file folders, and notebooks lay scattered haphazardly about the top with stacks of worn, yellowed books interspersed in the chaos, like buoys. There was a phone, but no computer. The filing cabinets belied the doctor's penchant for taking meticulous case notes and organizing them in the old fashioned way. James liked that. It was like a little bit of a touchstone for the era vaguely recalled in his fleeting memories. He didn't feel so out of time when he looked at the mess of paper and filing cabinets.

He kept his eyes on the doctor, waiting for him to make the first move, to break the silence. James had no idea how these meetings were supposed to work; he didn't know what was expected or how much of himself to offer up to this stranger's steady brown gaze. He shifted uncertainly, willing his leg to stop bouncing with nerves (he hadn't even realized it was doing that).

Reno finally cleared his throat and spoke for the first time since asking James to take a seat. That had been ten minutes ago, by the clock on the wall by the door. "Mr. Barnes – or do you prefer to be called Sergeant?" His voice was a soft, deep bass, like velvet.

James shrugged awkwardly and cleared his throat. "I – I don't know. Just call me James, I guess."

"Not 'Bucky?'"

He shook his head emphatically. "No."

"And why not?"

His thoughts turned to Steve Rogers, Captain America. Lina had told him about their encounter two days before, and she'd also told him about their exchange of contact information. James knew that the only thing they had to talk about was him, and he knew that they'd do exactly that. They both just wanted to help him however they could, so he couldn't be too angry about it. But… he hated being talked about like some kind of pet project or a problem child.

He licked his lips and replied, "Because I'm not him."

Reno eyed him coolly over his still-steepled hands. "But you _are_ James Buchanan Barnes, aren't you?"

"Yes," he huffed out, leaning back into the leather of the couch and crossing his arms defensively. "But that doesn't mean I'm the same person I was back then."

The doctor jotted something down on his pad. James eyed it warily. "And do you remember anything? From 'back then,' I mean."

James sighed heavily. "Yes…? I guess. I mean…" An agitated hand ran through his loose hair. "I get flashes of memories sometimes."

"What triggers these flashes?" The pen hovered over the yellow pad, ready to take notes on his life and secrets.

"Smells, sometimes. When Li – Agent Balitiu brought fried chicken on the second day she was assigned to me, I got a memory of some kind of fairground. Some books seem familiar. Sometimes, if I can get relaxed enough, little snippets of conversations or flashes of images come back. I can never make sense of them though." He rubbed his hands together, was he giving enough? Too much? How was this supposed to help?

The pen scratched as Reno scribbled a couple of lines. "You mean there's no context to the flashes?"

He shook his head. "Yeah, that. And they seem incomplete, like I walked in during the middle of a picture, heard three lines, and walked out."

"I can see how trying to make sense of that is frustrating. Listen, James: Memory is a strange thing that no one really understands. It's an abstract thing that has been puzzling people for centuries. If you're curious about it at all, talk to Miss Balitiu about books on the topic; I know she has a couple that might help you." The doctor smiled merrily at him, and James could have sworn there was a wink thrown in. He shook his head in puzzlement. "The easiest way to describe this trickle of memory you already have is this: your memory is like water behind a dam. Something – in this case, decades of Hydra's brainwashing techniques and memory wipes – is shoring them up, preventing you from reaching them and knowing yourself the way Captain Rogers does. You have a small trickle of memory leaking through the dam, which is good. It means that you aren't cut off from them completely, that you most likely _will_ regain them all in time. Now, whether that trickle grows in capacity is what is in question. It may stay a trickle and it may become a flood. There's no telling."

James nodded slowly, grateful that Reno used an analogy for it instead of some technical jargon.

"Now, James, Director Fury has shown me the footage of your attack on Agent Balitiu."

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Has _everyone_ in this damn organization seen it?"

Reno ignored the question, saying, "I assume that, because you fell asleep, your brain temporarily rewired itself into the Winter Soldier mentality, that you woke up believing yourself to be the Soviet assassin and targeted the first person you saw?"

James nodded, avoiding eye contact. Remembering his actions on that night still filled him with shame, and seeing Lina the day after with those god-awful bruises nearly destroyed him with guilt. She continued to show him nothing but kindness (and the occasional snap of attitude that hinted at a well-hidden, well-controlled temper, he believed) after the night of The Incident, and he still didn't know what he'd done to deserve such compassion.

"Well, allow me to clear up any misgivings you still have about that: it's a perfectly normal reaction for combat veterans and victims of violent attacks to experience. Whenever you are jarred out of sleep, whether it's by a nightmare, a noise, or sudden physical contact, you automatically enter a defensive mode. You subconsciously felt threatened, so your subconscious sought to eliminate the threat."

James shook his head, "I understand that, but what I want to know is how I can stop it from happening again."

The dark skinned man leaned in towards James and set the pad and pen on the table. "You keep coming here and talking. You work past your nightmares by playing through them while awake, and you change the frightening parts, give it a non-scary ending. When you get startled out of sleep, you remind yourself that it's not real and that you're not there. Given enough time and enough effort, you will begin to readjust to sleeping in a non-combat zone."

James leaned in, mirroring the doctor's stance. "And the flashes of memory?"

"Start a journal. Write them all down so that you can sift through them later. You'll be able to find different parts of the same conversations and images that way. You can order them and organize them more effectively. I'll have my secretary call Agent Balitiu and have her bring you one during her visit tomorrow. I'll also have someone install a television and DVD player for you; watching old movies might help trigger some more memories for you. I'll be sure to tell Agent Balitiu that too." The doctor winked, James was sure of it this time. "All in the name of recovery. Anyway, your hour's up. I'll see you in three days at the same time, James."

The two men stood in tandem and shook hands before James walked out of the room with a slight sense of confidence. It would take some doing, but he could be better. He could handle this.

* * *

Lina couldn't handle this. She had just finished a discussion on _The Waste Land_ that made a root canal look enjoyable, and now Selma had her cornered in their closet space of an office. The room was hot and cramped, she still had to wear scarves to cover up the bruises because the university denied her time off, and her head was pounding.

"Come on Lina, you need to get out more," the fiery Latina was saying, one perfectly manicured hand on her cocked hip.

The blonde shook her head emphatically. "I'm good, thank you though."

"Stop being such a stick in the mud. You have no social life, haven't since you moved here."

"Yes, and for good reason." Lina continued digging through her desk drawers, looking for her bottle of Motrin.

"Oh? Mind sharing with the class?"

Lina's cell phone began to ring, the Inspector Gadget theme alerting her to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s presence on the line. "I'm too busy, Selma. Hello?"

"_Agent Balitiu, this is Dr. Reno's secretary at S.H.I.E.L.D. Do you have a moment?_"

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"Lina, you are not. You've hit a lull in your research –." Lina held up a finger to her friend and colleague, signaling that she just needed a minute.

"_Mr. Barnes and Dr. Reno just had their first appointment, and he was hoping that you'd be willing to bring him an empty journal, some pens, and old movies."_

"Yes, that shouldn't be a problem. I'll bring them by this evening."

"_Thank you. Have a good day._"

"Yeah, you –" The line went dead. "— too. I forgot how much I can't stand that woman…" She found the pain killers and swallowed three dry.

Selma impatiently cleared her throat. "As I was saying, you've hit a lull in your research, and I know for a fact that you don't have any more grading to do until after midterms. You're coming out with me this Friday night, and you _are_ getting laid."

Lina cringed, hands immediately flying up to fidget with her scarf (a lovely plum colored cashmere thing, a gift from her grandmother). "Selma, you know I haven't… Not since… I can't do that."

The woman's expression softened. "Yeah, I know. Just come out and be social with me, okay? I miss our nights out; we haven't had one since July. You haven't seen him since, have you?"

She remembered the night in question clearly, but it had been two and a half months, and there was still no sign of _him_. Andrew. Lina shook her head in the negative, "I'll come out with you, but if I see any sign of him, you _are_ coming back to the apartment with me. I don't want to take any chances. And no dancing. You know I hate dancing."

Selma laughed, "That's because you have no rhythm. Fine, I can agree to that. We'll hit a bar and have a couple beers to ease you back in."

Lina smiled. "I think I can handle that."


	7. Chapter 7

I should be taking an online test, but… I really don't want to.

Thank you all for the feedback, the well-wishes, and the encouragement for this last bout of finals! It was really sweet of you!

Hope you enjoy this chapter; it's taken a couple of rewrites because it was stubborn. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it's not just fluff. There is both plot and character development, regardless of how minor the plot development may be! Hooray!

* * *

_**Chapter 7**_

"Trust your instinct to the end, though you can render no reason."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

The day went downhill after that phone call. Her bag (that she had gone home during an hour long break to fill) was laden with movies she thought James might enjoy, or had enjoyed at some point in his past life, and she was the afternoon coffee mule. Normally, even on days when she stopped to get the caffeinated beverage, she was never late to the university. Today, however, some obnoxious business man threw a tantrum over the usage of skim milk in his mocha-latte-frappe-mint-sugary confection thing instead of soy. Then the bus was late, and then a homeless man came inches away from peeing on her shoes. So, she was late, under-caffeinated, and annoyed. The universe was working against her.

She burst into the tiny office, breathing heavily, and glaring at anyone who crossed her. Selma whistled good-naturedly at her friend's disheveled state, and David leapt up from his spinning chair to take the coffee from her hands.

The redheaded man gave her a twice-over, gaze lingering a little too long on the blouse that was stretched snugly across her breasts. They weren't ample, by any means, but that didn't deter him from looking. "What took you so long? I was starting to worry that something had happened to you."

"Don't be such a worrywart, David," Selma said, laughingly taking her dirty chai from the cup holder. "You look like you had a nice commute, Lina. Pleasant encounters with your fellow humans this fine afternoon?"

The blonde glared daggers and almost violently snatched her coffee from David. "If I never see another person, it'll be too soon." She sat down to check her email for the third time that day and stow her bags away under her desk.

"That still doesn't explain why you're late," David harped, standing over her with his arms crossed sternly. "I don't even know why you had to leave in the first place."

Lina rolled her eyes, decidedly not looking at him. If she did, there was a good chance that her temper would flare and she'd snap at him. Instead, she chose to force patience as she gathered the book and notes she'd need for her next class. "Yes, it does, and, frankly, it's none of your business why I ran out. Don't make it a big deal," she said, sweeping out of the room. She prided herself on not slamming the door in a show of restraint.

Selma snorted, watching the interaction with amusement. "David, half of the faculty knows that you're mad with love for our little Lina. Acting like a clingy mother hen won't win you any points with her. Actually, you aren't going to win any points, period. She's not interested."

He scowled at the out-spoken woman, "It's not love, and if I wanted your opinion, I'd have asked for it."

Selma just rolled her eyes, completely unfazed by her coworker's attitude; he had been overly protective of Lina since the younger woman had started working with them, and he tended to get pissy if she didn't follow the same schedule every day. "You might need a rectal exam soon, hun; I think something crawled up your butt and died."

* * *

Lina's workday continued to devolve. Her students were either reticent and unwilling to participate in discussion, or they were rowdy and uncontrollable. No matter what she did to try correcting the situation, it just wouldn't work. Needless to say, it did nothing to improve her mood.

After her last class, she returned to the office to check emails one last time and to grab her belongings, and it seemed that her bags had been messed with. They weren't flush up against the front panel of her desk like she thought she'd left them, and the buckles and zippers weren't fully closed. She knew Selma would never riffle through her things and, even if she had, Selma was a bit of a neat-freak and would have closed everything properly.

That left David, but Lina just didn't want to think that he was the type to go through someone else's stuff. She was aware of his interest in her (had been for the few years she'd been at the university), but she did nothing to consciously encourage it. When he became too forward, she'd simply say something to push him away. This morning she had been rude but that was an uncommon occurrence. He was too domineering in little ways that made her uncomfortable, but it was nothing she could confront him about without seeming like a paranoid drama-queen, and Lina didn't think that his need to know about everything would devolve into him invading someone else's privacy.

She peeked at him from the corner of her eye, tilting her head forward and hiding the glance with her loose hair. He was deliberately avoiding looking in her direction and sitting too stiffly for someone who hadn't done something they knew to be wrong. His jaw was clenched, and she could see a vein ticking. Yeah, something was up. But maybe she was just imagining the thing with her backpack and messenger bag, and he was tense because he'd had a rough day too. That had to be it; he'd never do something like that.

But the feelings of doubt and violation still remained.

Not even half-convinced and very uncomfortable, Lina hastily closed her bags and walked out of the room with nothing more than a quiet parting wave. Hopefully spending the evening with James, takeout, and old movies would improve her mood. A combination of the latter two and a glass of wine or a beer did the trick, but tonight she was in the mood for decent company. James usually supplied that once she got past his defensive shell, which was getting easier and easier with each visit; it seemed the man was starved for kindness and it just so happened that she had plenty to offer.

She made her way to her ward's room after stopping for burgers and fries at a little joint around the corner from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s new location. James struck her as a guy who could appreciate a good, tasty hunk of meat with a heaping side of potatoes, and she hoped that instinct was correct. As she strode down the white hallway, she realized she was nervous about her movie selections. What if they were too girly, too serious, or too not his cup of tea? It was silly to stress over something this trivial, but, as it was a part of James' treatment, it didn't seem trivial. In fact, it felt pretty damn important.

After making sure her frustration with the day was properly buried, she knocked. James didn't need to deal with her bad day on top of his issues; Lina hated to be a burden on anyone, especially people that had too much on their plates already.

The door to room 42 opened after the first knock, much to Lina's surprise. The even greater shock was the clean-shaven visage that the open door revealed.

Her eyes widened at the smooth skin and strong, classic jawline that was revealed as all thoughts of her less than stellar day fled. A gasp escaped her parted lips before she could control herself. "Oh! You shaved. You have a baby face, and – wow. You look good. _Really _good. Like… Yeah. I'm rambling. Sorry, this took me by surprise."

_Yeah, he _definitely_ never lacked a date. Holy moly, he's hot! Wow. Okay, self-control. You're a big girl; you've been in rooms with people you've found attractive before. Yes, it's been a while – a long while – since you last had the hots for someone, but pull yourself together woman. He needs a friend, not a drooling fangirl. Stop it. _Stop _it._ Mental berating and pep talk over, Lina collected herself enough to notice his blush, no longer hidden by his scruff.

"_It was starting to itch_," he murmured in Russian, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand and avoiding eye contact.

She nodded sagely, having gone through the same thing when she was too lazy to shave her legs for a short period last year (she was single, had no one to impress, and had a plethora of long slacks and tights in her wardrobe; no one ever knew). "_That's as good a reason as any to get rid of it. I bring sustenance_!"

The obvious segue brought a tiny smile to his lovely face (_that bone structure! How did they never get him to model?_ She banished the thought immediately). "_What did you cook tonight_?"

A peal of laughter echoed around the small room. "Oh, honey. _When I cook for you, you'll know it and takeout will never be the same_," she teased, settling on the floor and digging into the plastic bag. "_We're having burgers and fries tonight_."

His mouth began to water. The smell had been familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. "_I haven't had a good burger in seventy years_."

"_Then it's high-time we correct that_." The blonde plopped down on the floor, absently switching back to English. "And, in my far-reaching wisdom and kindness, I thought, 'what goes better with burgers and fries than milkshakes?' Hope you like chocolate." She began setting the food out on the paper plates she'd laid on the floor, the Styrofoam cups full of delicious dairy balancing spoons and straws on their lids.

At the mention of milkshakes, he began salivating tenfold. The food was familiar and the milkshakes were the coup de grâce. James felt his eyes start to fill with tears and his heart was hammering in his chest. He remembered sitting in a diner with a small, sickly version of Steve Rogers and sharing a milkshake twice a year. It was a special birthday tradition that they'd always made happen, no matter what. A hazy flash of some drug store in London hit him; he'd sat on a stool by the post-serum Steve, each sipping their own milkshake (his was a rich chocolate from the extra syrup he'd requested, and Steve's was strawberry) and laughing at something.

He cleared his throat to force the lump that had arisen there back down and willed away the moisture in his eyes as he sat on the floor beside Lina. She'd been watching him patiently as he had that little moment, waiting to eat until he was ready. Her lack of judgment helped to lessen the embarrassment James felt at getting so emotional over a dairy product, but not by much; he decide to avoid eye contact until he regained full control of himself, just in case.

Most of their meal passed in silence. Lina was mulling over her day, still stuck on the unsanitary homeless man (seriously, who goes around peeing on other people?) and the mystery of the bag riffler. It was such a tiny, insignificant thing to notice; maybe she had been in such a harried, foul mood that she left them that way and was unfairly, needlessly, placing the blame elsewhere. James was working up the courage to try the milkshake. If the burger was this delicious, he could only assume that the milkshake would be just as good (if not better). He hoped he wouldn't moan at the first taste.

He did. Moan, that is. The cold, creaminess of the softened chocolate ice cream slid over his tongue like silk. It was heavenly, and he was addicted. His eyes fluttered closed and his head fell back against the mattress behind him. Blindly, he sucked another mouthful of the frosty treat down and hummed with a lazy contentment that felt entirely foreign. Not that he cared; right at that moment, none of the past mattered. None of the darkness mattered, none of the badness mattered. All he cared about was his chocolate milkshake. With another sip, he banished those unhappy thoughts completely.

Lina's eyes widened at the sound that escaped James as he tried the chocolate concoction. Her cheeks flamed and her heart skipped a beat. His cheeks hollowed out with the suction of pulling the ice cream up the straw, revealing high, sharp cheekbones. _Yup. He should have grown up to be a model_, she decided. _Or a porn star. Those noises should be illegal, especially around a girl who has been willfully celibate for well over two years. I'm inactive, not a nun. Jeez, oh Pete!_

She had to do something to make him stop with those sounds and expressions. They were already going to haunt her dreams, she could tell. "Movies!" Lina squeaked out.

Those impossibly blue eyes flew open at the high-pitched noise, and he frowned in confusion. "What?"

She cleared her throat in an effort to bring her voice back to a register that humans could hear. "I brought those movies that Reno wanted. There's a bunch in that backpack over there; I wasn't sure what you would like, so I brought a little bit of everything."

James settled the milkshake safely on the floor (_thank God_) and easily reached the bag in question. He glanced at her for permission before unzipping it and looking through the titles. Boys Town, His Girl Friday, Gone with the Wind, Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Lady and the Tramp, A Night at the Opera, Duck Soup, Gunga-Din, Bringing Up Baby, The Adventures of Robin Hood, Captain Blood, Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, The Thin Man – there really was a little bit of everything. Lina certainly didn't skimp on the genres.

He read through the synopses on the backs of the thin cases (who'd have ever thought that the pictures would ever fit into such compact spaces, and be available to own and watch in the privacy of one's own home?) and settled on His Girl Friday. James vaguely recalled liking the leading man before he went off to war and films became unimportant.

"_Good choice; I love this movie. Dad and I always make a point of watching at least one old movie whenever we visit each other. It's our tradition_," the blonde said as she went about hooking up the television set. It had DVD player built in, so that was one less gadget to worry about. The screen was big enough that he wouldn't have to squint to see from the bed, but small enough to easily fit on top of his dresser. "_We used to watch these movies with his parents every Saturday night before they died. His Girl Friday was one of Papa's favorite movies, and Granny Elke always teased Papa about leaving him for Cary Grant when they were younger_."

A slight smile ghosted across his face. "_They sound charming._"

"Oh, they were. Papa would have wanted to arm wrestle you, and Granny Elke would have had you half in love with her before dessert." She tossed the remote on the bed, cleaned up her garbage, and curled around one of the nice pillows that still rested at the foot of the bed. "It feels so nice to lie down," she groaned. "You really need to start using these pillows; you'll never want to get up."

James chuckled as the ads played, still sucking at his milkshake. It was getting a little thin, but he was determined to make it last. "I'll try them tonight."

"Nope, try one now." One of her hands gently pushed his head and shoulders forward as the second pillow was slipped between him and the bed.

_She was right_, he noted, settling back into the plush cushion. _This is much better than the S.H.I.E.L.D.-supplied ones. Still too soft to sleep one, but better._

"Oh, _you should know that I ran into Steve Rogers the other day; he's concerned about how you're doing and asked me to keep him updated. I… I texted him about your appointment with Reno, and he seemed pleased that you're being proactive about getting better. Please don't be upset with me! He's just a nice guy who's worried about someone he loves, and I couldn't say no to that_."

He froze, mid-suck. James had known in some vague, abstract way that Steve cared, but he couldn't safely be around the sandy haired man long enough to determine the extent of it for himself. Lina saw it, and she was a pretty sharp, very guarded woman. He'd been around her for close to a week now and was just now learning anything about her personal life. If Steve had convinced her of his genuine worry in a short encounter, then it must be true. A trickle of guilt sunk his spirits; the part of him that was eking through in fuzzy memories was begging to see his friend and Captain. The part that was all Hydra and Red Room had its hackles raised. "_Did… did you really see Steve the other day_?"

"_Yes._" Her voice was soft, unsure.

"_How did he look_?" His voice was equally soft.

A sigh of relief escaped her. "_He looked good; a little tired and worried, but good. He misses his friend, but is glad that you've accepted some help_."

James just nodded, not really sure how to respond.

The ads finished and the opening credits began to roll when Lina spoke up again: "I got extra chocolate syrup in the milkshake; it wasn't rich enough before. Hope you don't mind."

Her words struck him into stillness for a second time, but she didn't notice, eyes riveted on the screen. James' heart began to beat faster and his throat tightened again, but no tears came to his eyes. Without really realizing what he was doing, his hand reached back to find hers. Their fingers curled around each other, and they watched the whole movie in a silence only broken by the sipping of his milkshake.


	8. Chapter 8

I am so, so sorry about taking so long to get this out; with finals week, prep for some out-of-town friends, and graduation parties (I'm way too old to be out all night anymore. No matter what they say, there's a huge difference in stamina when you hit 24.), my time was not my own. However, that's over and it's LSAT studying now. Hooray!

Also, may I just say: HOLY CRAP ON A CRACKER. Over 100 reviews for _seven chapters_?! Wow. Just… wow. Thank y'all so much for your support and kind words! Your patience with me is pretty stellar too.

* * *

_**Chapter 8**_

"I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day."

-Judith Viorst, _Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day_

He sat on that leather sofa again, face buried in his right hand as he bowed forward. The exhaustion was written all across his features, winding through his body language. He had started taking more care with his appearance, Dr. Reno noted. It wasn't anything major, just shaving, but that was still a baby-step forward on the resocialization front.

The kindly doctor took pity on his patient and broke the silence. "You look tired, James. Have you been sleeping?"

The former assassin took a moment to answer; whether he was carefully choosing his words or gathering the energy to speak, Reno didn't know, but he was patient enough to wait and find out. James Barnes was a man who liked to do things in his own way, in his own time. That much the doctor did know, and he was not looking forward to the day when someone would push the soldier too far.

James licked his lips and leaned his back against the sofa so he could look Reno in the eye, knowing that what he was about to say would be rebuked. "I've been in cryogenic stasis for the majority of seventy years. Sleep is the last thing I need."

Reno's brow rose at the avoidance of the issue. "So that's a no. Is it dreams keeping you from rest?"

The haggard man's right shoulder twitched like he wanted to lift his hand, but he forced himself still. If Reno hadn't been watching his patient like a hawk he'd have missed the minute spasm. "Dreams are supposed to be pleasant things; the things _I_ see when I force myself to sleep are anything but. Only a madman would find joy in them," he responded with a sneer of disgust.

"Are they memories or wild, subconscious creations?" Reno asked, jotting some quick notes down.

Barnes buried his face in the palm of his right hand again, and the doctor noted the avoidance of any and all voluntary contact with the cybernetic limb. "Both, I guess. Some are pure memory, some are made up, and the rest are memories with new parts." He gestured to the leather journal that rested innocently on the coffee table. "Look through it if you like. I've written down all the dreams I can remember, and some of the memories as they happen."

The journal was a lovely thing, all buttery brown leather, rounded corners, and nice, vellum pages. It even tied shut for an added sense of security. James had tied the thin leather strings into an intricate knot, one that – if disturbed – would be difficult to retie.

As tempted as Reno was to see what the Winter Soldier lived with on a day to day basis, he knew that Barnes would never fully trust him if he opened the journal. "I'm not going to do that, James. I'd rather get you talking about them, working through them so that we might make some forward progress. Tell me about these dreams."

After a long, measuring look, James began to speak of the horrors that plagued him. He spoke for twenty minutes, never abstaining from the excruciating details, and always watching Reno with that chillingly perceptive, icy gaze. He wanted a reaction, he wanted to horrify and disgust the doctor with his unembellished tales of gore and death and pain. He wanted to turn Reno's stomach and then dare him to continue treatment. He wanted his stories to be so shocking that the topic would become a taboo and be avoided for the rest of their sessions. However, Reno knew this game, had seen it countless other times, and had a killer poker face. Reno never let on that he wouldn't be taking lunch today.

Instead of showcasing his discomfort, Reno relaxed his posture, continued taking notes, and asked questions. Even the slightest sign of weakness would register with this terrifying, tormented man, and Reno would lose any respect Barnes felt towards him. He had to be seen as a fellow alpha male – strong, not easily put off, intelligent – to continue making the soldier work to save himself from his worst enemy: himself.

"Give me a percentage: how much of these nightmares are memory and how much of them are your subconscious getting creative?" he asked, pen poised above the legal pad.

James blinked at the steadiness of the doctor's tone, noting that the dark-skinned hand never shook. "Uh… If I had to give a percentage, 70% memory, 30% additions."

He scribbled something. "Start working on reminding yourself of that whenever once of the nightmares wakes you. Your guilt over your actions is adding an almost hyperbolic element to the horrors. Once you come to terms with your past, your lack of choice in your course of action, and make peace with yourself, you should notice a steady decline in their occurrence. Have you made any progress in patching together your life before the fall?"

With a glint of newfound respect in his steely eyes, James nodded. "I like dark meat, and chocolate milkshakes with extra chocolate," he admitted bashfully.

Reno smiled softly, but did not laugh. "Anything else?"

Another nod. "I have flashes of laughing and talking with a scrawny blond guy – Captain… _Steve_, I think. The face and voice are the same, but he… got taller."

Reno nodded absently, scribbling again.

"Those old movies – I remember going to see some of them, like Robin Hood and Captain Blood."

"You enjoy the swashbucklers; one of my favorites is The Count of Monte Cristo," Reno admitted.

James frowned for a moment. "I know I've seen that, I just can't remember…" His metal hand flexed and clenched by his side, illustrating his frustration.

"Ask Agent Balitiu to bring her copy over the weekend. Has she been by today?"

James shook his head in the negative. "She said she'd try to make it, but with a late staff meeting and plans with a friend, she'd either be late or would miss a day." He tried to keep his tone neutral and even, but James thought a hint of his disappointment might have seeped through.

The astute doctor raised his eyebrows. "You're a bit put off by this. You've grown fond of her, no?"

James nodded hesitantly. "She's been nothing but kind to me, even after I tried to kill her."

"Agent Balitiu is a rather compassionate person. You should think about opening up to her; share your memories, if you feel comfortable with it. Save the horrors for here – even though I believe she's more than capable of dealing with them – but think about it. It would benefit you to have someone to call 'friend,'" Reno said.

The two men sat in silence for a moment, no sounds but their breathing and the tic-tic of the clock to fill the room.

"What do you do after the dreams wake you?"

"Cold shower to wake up, breathing exercises The Red Room taught me, and then I go to the gym if it's empty."

"Do you feel discomfort around others?"

James shrugged. "I don't like the looks and the whispers. I know I'm always monitored, but feeling eyes on me is unnerving. I… also don't want to be around anyone in case I snap again." His eyes darted around embarrassedly, knee jostling up and down.

"Do you often feel on the brink of losing control?"

James shook his head. "Only after I first wake up, and once the other day when someone froze in fear by the punching bag."

"What triggered it in the gym?"

"The surprise; I was lost in thought and had finally found a rhythm, so this guy's presence was unexpected. I got startled and almost lost control. Poor kid looked ready to mess himself, and that made it worse."

Reno furrowed his brow, confusion lacing his voice. "His fear made your grasp of yourself more tenuous?"

A single, short nod was his answer.

"Why?"

The soldier sighed heavily. "The look in his eyes… My targets used to have the same look when they realized they were alone, that no help was coming – that look was the realization that they'd just lived the last day of their lives. It was the look that meant I'd won, meant I had a good chance at avoiding the wiping process for another day. They always let me keep the successes and the early failures to remind me of my task and the punishment for failure. All of my missions were successes, but my 'inclination to subordination' was deemed a failing. Once they trained that out of me there was no reason to put me through a memory wipe until I was sent to take down Fury."

"And what was different that time?"

James smiled. "Steve."

* * *

"Dammit! Damn it all to the frozen tundra between Satan's butt cheeks!" Lina growled as her flat iron burned the tip of her ear. She glared at her reflection, cursing her capitulation to Selma's demands.

She had never been fond of going out – but that's not to say she was a recluse. No, Lina just preferred smaller gatherings in cozy bars where real conversation was an option. Crowded, steamy clubs and bars where dancing and seeking one night stands were the only forms of entertainment usually made her uncomfortable. She needed open air and open spaces to keep her poise. Hopefully this place that Selma claimed was "to die for" had a patio that Lina could claim a seat on until she left. The plan was to go, appease Selma, make sure she had a good time, and leave early without touching a drop of the overpriced drinks.

After throwing on makeup a little heavier than her usual fare, she glanced at her watch which started a fresh bout of grumbling. The stupid staff meeting had run long – she hated staff meetings; it was always the same lecture about excess use of paper and the same issues about break room etiquette and adjunct offices – so now she had to rush her primping time if she wanted to stop by to see James. He needed routine and company, so it was up to her and Dr. Reno to provide them. Lina wasn't about to slack off on him; besides, she'd rather spend her evening with him than out on the town.

She slid her black suede heels on, threw a fashionable black lace scarf around her neck, and rushed out the door with a quick pat to Ziggy, still irritable at her predicament.

Lina made it to the Acme front in next to no time after splurging on a cab. This was a rare treat since she had such a strict budget; cab rides and nights out were rare. She flew down to the right floor, loving the sound her heels made on the hard floor tiles. While she hated going out, she loved dressing up. It was the curse of being a girly introvert.

James was rounding the corner just as she reached his door, his pupils dilated with interest at the leggy blonde awaiting him. The fitted black dress fell just above her knees and did nothing to hide her curves from wandering eyes, heels bringing her almost to eye level with him. She leaned against his door waiting for him, wine red lips curled into a satisfied grin as she tamped down her irritability. There was no sense in taking her bad mood out on James.

She let out a low whistle as he neared. "Howdy, Sarge! Nice muscles."

He looked down at himself, suddenly hyperaware that his face was red and that he was in sneakers, sweatpants, and a snug t-shirt. All he could do was smirk at her as he switched their banter to Russian. "_Enjoying the view, sweetheart_?"

"_Indeed I am_. _Don't mind if I ogle you._" She batted her green eyes at him as he drew even, pausing mere inches away from touching her. "_Are you planning to let me in, or are you gonna stand there staring all night_?"

"_I'd consider it if you weren't on the door." _ He grinned at her sheepish blush. Lina had forgotten where, exactly, she was leaning. "_I thought you were going out tonight."_

She bobbed her head in the affirmative, agitatedly tossing her bangs out of her eyes. She really didn't want to be reminded of her evening activities. "_Yeah, but I have a little time to kill before then."_

James looked up and down the empty hall, trying to assess the current level of occupants. It was a Friday night, so most agents not on assignment or on lockdown from public escapades would probably be out, allowing him to wander the halls and public spaces with a bit more freedom. "Have you eaten?"

"I… I snuck an apple and peanut butter earlier. I never have much of an appetite before going out."

He lightly grabbed her wrist as he marched down the hall in the opposite direction of the gym. "Come on."

Lina stumbled a bit in her shoes as he pulled her along behind him. "Hey, do you mind slowing down some? Where are we going?"

James acquiesced and slowed his pace so she could keep up. How women walked in those impractical (_but appealing_) shoes, he'd never know. They were the kind of shoes that could be fun if left on in the bedroom. He shook those thoughts away. "The cafeteria. It should be fairly deserted on a Friday night, and you need to eat. No sense in drinking on an empty stomach."

With a quick twist of her wrist, Lina had enough room to slide her hand up into his and pull him around to face her. "That's terribly sweet of you, but I'm not drinking tonight. I'm making an appearance to appease Selma and then I'm leaving. Going to places like the ones she always picks isn't my idea of a good time, and I don't want any issues getting home."

His eyes searched her face for a minute before he pointedly resumed his quest for the kitchens. "Fine, then I'm hungry. Keep me company while I eat, alright?"

She could see that his jaw was set and knew that there was no changing his mind. "You're a terrible liar, you know," Lina huffed. She knew he was just trying to look out for her, but being pulled around and treated like a child rankled her pride.

"Only because I wasn't trying to be convincing."

As they reached the double doors to the 24-hour cafeteria, he slowed and cautiously pushed one door open to see how crowded the room was before entering. There was one couple seated at the table in the far back corner whose chairs were so close that they may as well have been entwined on a bench somewhere. Their hushed conversation fell silent as they simultaneously noticed the arrival of someone else.

James was keenly aware of their eyes on him as he pushed Lina ahead of him in the food line. The blond man was glaring at him with a ferocity normally reserved for those who were personally wronged; the redheaded woman sat stiffly gripping her cheap dinner fork as she watched him with her sharp, impassive façade up. He kept his head down and tried to ignore the tension that was rolling off of them in waves as he got the same things that Lina did, just doubled. James figured that she would know what was edible and what wasn't when it came to cafeteria food.

"_Sont les amis de la vôtre?_" Lina whispered to him as she leaned across to get some red Jell-o, noting that the man was the one she'd given cashew chicken to. Clint Barton was his name, if she recalled correctly. He was with the Black Widow; a double Avengers sighting would be something to be excited about if she weren't worried about a fight breaking out. (Are those friends of yours?)

He just shrugged. He didn't recognize the male agent, so James assumed that his animosity came from being protective of the woman. She was familiar; he didn't know her name, but he remembered fighting her on the streets during Hydra's quest to take down S.H.I.E.L.D. Her caution was understandable, but the man's anger still didn't make much sense. James wrote it off as part of the effect from being in the same room with the Winter Soldier. Now that the intelligence community knew he was a man and not a ghost story, he was more likely to be feared and lashed out at.

Lina led him to a table on the far side of the room from the other couple with a seat against the wall where he could take in the whole room and still have his back protected. James didn't know how she knew to do these little things, but he appreciated that she did them regardless. He watched her silky curtain of hair swing as he followed behind her, anxious to avoid a confrontation in the subterranean cafeteria. Brawling like a schoolboy at lunch didn't sound appealing, and he knew Lina would be in the line of fire.

Once they were seated and their meal begun, he leaned closer to murmur, "_You look lovely."_ He was so close that he felt her shiver as his words ghosted over her skin.

"_Thank you_," was her shy, polite reply. Lina kept her eyes on her tray of food as she tightly twisted her paper napkin.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, no sound passing in the large room except the other agents leaving quietly. James kept stealing glances at his companion, wondering if she was always uncomfortable when a man complimented her appearance. He'd have to keep watching to see if she did. Sure, Lina was modest about certain things, but she was a pretty woman; she should be proud to have that noticed, and any compliments should be met with confidence. She seemed confident about her work and entertainment choices, she was clever enough to learn several languages and attract S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention, and she somehow knew how to make him comfortable in an unfamiliar setting. Surely she could accept a compliment about her looks.

"How do you know to do the little things you do to keep me calm or make me comfortable?" he asked, blue eyes locked on her face.

Lina's head shot up and her dark eyebrows disappeared under her rogue bangs. Surprise, whether it was at the suddenness of the question or at the strangeness of it, colored her features; she failed to hide it completely as she tried to compose herself. "Female intuition," she bit out. "How was your session with Dr. Reno earlier?"

"I'll happily tell you about it if you give me more than that 'intuition' line," he said lightly, spooning the last of his mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Lina huffed as she leaned back in the plastic chair, arms crossed over her chest. Her leg jostled up and down as she tried to figure out a way to tell him that wouldn't lead to her going into a lot of detail; she hated reopening that can of worms. "All I'm willing to say is that I have some experience in helping other PTSD patients. Let's leave it at that. How was your session?"

"It was fine; we talked about my nightmares mostly. Reno said I need to remind myself of how much is dream-exaggeration to make them more manageable. How did you learn to deal with someone else's PTSD?" He knew she didn't want to talk about it, but James needed to know a little something about her, more than the little slivers she gave away with food and books and movies. Trust is a two-way street; if he was supposed to trust her, she needed to trust him too.

"It's hard, but it helps to replay the nightmares while you're awake; train yourself to give them a different, boring ending so it ends that way when you dream. Like… you walk into a dark room and start to do laundry or something. The conditioning really will help." She purposely didn't answer his question as she picked at her Jell-o.

"That's good to know; how did you learn to handle someone else's PTSD, Lina?"

She scowled at him, and he thought it was adorable. Of course, he didn't let on about that; she would have gotten legitimately pissed if he did. Her arms folded across her chest again and she leaned ever further away. The room felt tense; the air was heavy like just before a storm. Somehow, James knew that there was a very good chance he'd see a sliver of her temper tonight.

"How does anyone know anything? I knew a guy and learned on the fly, okay? Drop it."

How could she be so guarded? It was a fair question to ask, and James wanted a little bit more than she 'knew a guy.' Should he push for more? Of course he was going to push; that's what he did. He knew, on some level, that he had always pushed people. He tried to protect them, but when he felt like pertinent information was being withheld, he toed the line. So he decided to do some more toeing with Lina. And why did her answer have to rhyme? He hated that kind of thing. "'Knew a guy?' That's rather vague."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" Lina snapped, glaring harshly at the man next to her. She hated being pushed to reveal private, personal information, and this story was more than that – it was intimate. Less than a handful of people knew it, and she wasn't too eager to add another name to the list of people who did.

James knew he was toeing the line, but he really did want to know this woman. Her unwillingness to share made him even more curious about her past. Could she really be this closed off? She cared for him, obviously, but why wouldn't she let him know her well enough to let him care too? Maybe she didn't actually care beyond the scope of her assignment. Or maybe this story really was _that_ bad. There was only one way to find out.

"Are you going to share?" he asked, pinching a cube of his green Jell-o between his thumb and forefinger and swallowing it whole. The texture was disgusting, but he didn't let on.

The metal legs of her chair squealed against the tiles as she shoved it back from the table and planted her hands on either side of her tray. Her eyes flashed with barely suppressed anger as she leaned in towards him. James was shocked by the forcefulness of her response. "No, I'm not. I've only ever told this story to four people, and I'm in no hurry to tell it again. You need to respect my boundaries, soldier, or else I'll find someone to take over this assignment. Neither of us wants that, but if you can't respect me and my limits, I will. I don't put up with that kind of treatment, so consider this your fair warning. Drop the subject and never bring it up again, okay?"

She grabbed her clutch and stormed out of the cafeteria to meet Selma. Lina decided she might need a drink or three after all.


	9. Chapter 9

Again, I'm really sorry about that long delay; it was the end of the semester and then my whole family did some really good headless chicken imitations as we prepared for graduation and the festivities that entailed. To make up for it, I've tried to do a tight turn-around with this one. It seems like there are some mixed reactions to the less than amiable ending to the last chapter, so hopefully this clears that up and keeps you interested.

* * *

_**Chapter 9**_

"It's still the same old story  
A fight for love and glory  
A case of do or die  
The world will always welcome lovers  
As time goes by."

– Frank Sinatra, "As Time Goes By"

Lina awoke the next morning with a mighty pounding in her head. She groaned and tried to roll onto her back, which resulted in a tumble to the floor. Her eyes flew open and she winced at the bright, late morning light shining cheerily through the windows. Lina groaned in pain, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. She had a long history of being a lightweight, and last night had done nothing but further it. Two shots of whiskey and two whiskey sours, and she was a wreck. Lina groaned again as the vague memory of dancing wildly with a strange man and Selma surfaced.

Slowly she rose up onto her elbows to survey her place on the floor. Ziggy lay perched on the back of the sofa, staring down at Lina through her narrowed eyes disapprovingly. How she made it home in one piece she didn't know, and now her cat was judging her. Great. Maybe Selma would know; she had gone home with the guy they'd danced with, Lina knew that much for certain. Perhaps they dropped her off on their way…? She'd find out later. For now, she needed water, ibuprofen, and a hot shower. That was her mission, and she took to it as best she could in her self-inflicted, pitiful condition.

Once in the shower and surrounded by steam, Lina allowed herself to go over the events that weren't blurred by alcohol. She had gotten angry with James and had threatened to quit him. Crap. Yeah, her day had been less than pleasant, but she shouldn't have taken it out on him.

_He pushed me, though. I told him to stop, and he didn't. Anyone would have snapped, right? _she thought, gently massaging her shampoo into her straight locks. _Maybe; it would have been uncomfortable either way. Think about it, he doesn't really know that much about you beyond taste in books, movies, and food. That's not a whole lot for a guy to establish trust on, so of course he tried to get personal. Man, I _suck. _But he _should_ have stopped when I asked him to. I'm not ready to tell that story again, and he should have respected that. _She groaned again as her thoughts began to circle, like soap suds around a drain.

She rested her forehead on the shower wall, the cool tiles providing some relief for her throbbing headache. Why she had to go and bite his head off, she didn't know. Once she felt better and wasn't quite so humiliated by her unfriendly conduct, she'd go in and apologize to him. Hopefully this hadn't put him into too terrible of a mood.

Sometime around four in the afternoon, Lina made her way to James' room to try setting things to rights. There was only so much dallying a girl could do before facing the music, and she had dallied her last. Her feet dragged as much as possible as she neared his door, but, unlike the nightmares of never-ending hallways, it got closer and closer with each step. She stood before the most intimidating door in the world, nervously worrying her too-long sleeves as she debated whether or not she should knock.

_Why am I nervous? He pushed my buttons and I bit his head off. I'll apologize, he'll apologize, and we'll pretend it never happened. How is that a bad thing? Just knock, _she mentally pepped herself up and quietly rapped at the door before she could chicken out.

A moment later the door swung open and James leaned against the jamb, blocking her from coming in. Arms crossed, face impassive, and one brow arched inquisitively – yeah, she was in trouble and about to eat some humble pie. "Can I help you?" he asked coolly.

Lina swallowed anxiously. "Yeah, can I come in? I'd really rather not do this in the hallway…" When he didn't move except to raise his eyebrows imperiously, she tugged on the end of her ponytail and stared at the floor between their feet. "Okay, I guess we're doing this here. Brilliant. Look, I'm sorry about some of the things I said last night; it was a long, awful day, but I never should have said that I would leave you to someone new. It was an empty threat, and I think we both know it. I'm also sorry about biting your head off about my previous experience with PTSD, but it's a story I'm neither ready nor willing to tell. I need you to respect that. So, can you forgive me?"

Her head shot up in disbelief when he began chuckling. It was a low, lovely sound that immediately sent shots of warmth to her belly, but she ignored that as her annoyance began to build. Never mind that his mouth looked delectable all curved up like that, he was laughing at her attempt to be sincere and mend things!

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Lina growled as she pushed by him to get in the room. He stumbled and laughed even harder. "Were you even upset to begin with?"

James closed the door gently and sprawled on his bed, hands folded behind his head. "No. I thought your show of temper was rather cute." _Like a kitten growling at a panther._

A strangled cry of frustration tore itself from her throat. "I've been beating myself up over this since I got up today, and you aren't even ruffled. I'm a colossal idiot. You're not even the slightest bit apologetic for pissing me off, are you?"

He shot up into a sitting position. "You're wrong on a couple of those points. It was a little upsetting when you threatened to find a replacement, but I knew you wouldn't; I don't think you're the kind of person to do something like that after building a sense of responsibility for me and becoming attached. That line of thinking eased my mind. Second, you are not an idiot. Third, I do feel bad for pushing you too far, but I think I'm a little entitled to know more about you, especially considering how much you know about me and my past. Do you think we can cool down a bit and become – I don't know, friendly?"

His expectant, agitated, vulnerable gaze melted the remnants of her anger and embarrassment away. Lina tugged her ponytail again and moved to sit next to him on the bed, playfully bumping his left shoulder with hers. "You know, that's the most words I've ever heard you string together at once," she deflected, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He rested his cheek on her head, understanding that the truce was an unspoken one. "I finished those Harry Potter books you gave me…"

She laughed her full, loud laugh at the clumsy segue. "Did you love them as much as I thought you might?"

They carried on for the remainder of the evening like nothing had happened, and James learned that Harry Potter had been her constant companion throughout her preteen and teenage years, through the many moves her father's work had demanded, through the loss of grandparents and friends, and through her first two years of college. It was her anchor and giver of wisdom (how could anyone doubt the words of Dumbledore?), and she had decided to share that with him. It gave him a little flutter of excitement that she'd shared that part of herself, and with him of all people.

The duo established a familiar routine over the weeks: Lina would show up after work with food (he really liked burgers, cheesecake, fried chicken, barbeque, Chinese and Thai, but hated sushi and fast food), they'd eat and talk, then watch a movie, and she'd leave. They'd repeat this day in and day out for the next several weeks. James learned more about Lina and her life before S.H.I.E.L.D., excepting that one period she refused to discuss, and she learned about his therapy sessions with Reno and the memories that were slowly but steadily returning. His dreams and memories chilled and delighted her in turns. Her family sounded like the one he and Steve had always dreamed of being a part of, close and warm and a bit eccentric. The madness that seemed to ensue around the holidays sounded overwhelming and oh so desirable. With Thanksgiving approaching, James' nostalgia and the slightest amount of envy were evoked. Lina promised to bring him a pecan pie after she returned from her vacation.

He had started making progress, much more than when he'd first been assigned a rehabilitation companion. The memories were stronger and clearer; he could recall his first days in the Army with minimal fogginess. He remembered protecting a puny Steve Rogers in the halls of their high school from bullies, a facet of their friendship that continued into adulthood. He remembered he'd had a sister, Rebecca, who had gone off to boarding school; they were never close and lost touch completely after their separation. The clearest memory he had was of the fall from the train.

Steve had tried to save him, but couldn't. James knew that, but he couldn't help feeling some resentment and jealousy at the different turns their lives had taken. While Steve had slept through a lifetime of war and invention only to awake as an instant superhero and media darling, James had been experimented on and brainwashed, only awoken to kill over two dozen human beings. He could recall flashes of his tenure as a Red Room operative; he'd trained young women in the art of killing and had been used as a practice target in their seduction training. He'd been given women 'owned' by Hydra operated prostitution rings that served several purposes: it kept them involved as major players on the crime scene, gave their leaders and prized assets little amusements, provided incentives to various political leaders to allow the group some modicum of control, and gave Hydra blackmail material over the less than willing lecherous leaders of the world.

Some of the more disgusting men who'd been his handlers over the years enjoyed wiping his mind, taunting the blood lust out of him, and then setting him on one of the girls whose use had expired. They always watched, whether he was rutting with the girls or not. He never took a woman against her will; something in him wouldn't allow that to happen regardless of his programming, but he had been instructed to kill them on multiple occasions. It sickened him to remember these things, but Reno and his techniques always helped him through it. In that time, Lina became a balm to his aching soul. Sometimes it felt as though James was using her as a crutch, but she never protested. Instead, she just opened her arms to him and ran her fingers through his hair until he regained control of himself.

The flashbacks continued and his walls contained a few more craters from fists that went flying against imagined foes. They usually happened after a sudden awakening or an abrupt, violent memory returned. He was usually alone for those, but one occurred in the gym.

He'd been alone in the large room, the sounds of his fists connecting with the punching bag mingling with his heavy breathing when a door slamming open startled him into a recollection of a gruesome assassination of some Eastern European something-or-other. The loud 'bang' of the door against the wall faintly resembled the sound of the VBIEDs he'd remotely detonated underneath all the cars in his target's motorcade. It triggered the Winter Soldier mentality and he zeroed in on the other person in the room.

It was the redheaded woman from his first scuffle with Captain America, the same woman from the cafeteria so many weeks prior. She eyed him cautiously from her spot halfway across the room as she fully realized she was completely alone with him. James began to approach her menacingly, fists clenching and unclenching as he assessed his target.

She backed up, matching him step for step. Unarmed, she was still lethal, but not against the Winter Soldier. Natasha knew that he'd been making progress in regaining full control of himself and his memories. She also knew that his training and programming weren't completely eradicated. As she was a product of his training and the same experimental serum as he, she knew that she would be hard-pressed to walk out of a real fight with him in one piece. However she assessed the situation, it didn't look too good for her. Never one to back down from a fight, she went on the offensive.

She threw a five pound weight at his head and ran at him while he was distracted by batting the round iron thing away. A quick, hard jab at his solar plexus and an uppercut to his jaw and she was dancing out of his reach again. He swiped a leg behind her ankle, throwing her off balance, followed by a punch to her head that didn't connect due to her quick back-bend.

They continued in this vein for several tense moments, each fighting for survival. Granted, one was a product of a rogue memory run afoul and the other was real. Either way, the two highly skilled assassins worked up a major sweat as they went at each other. Natasha remembered his fighting style and used that knowledge to her advantage even though it didn't do much to help her gain the upper hand. She finally saw an opening and gracefully slithered her way through the ropes around the boxing ring (courtesy of Tony Stark), grabbing another five pound weight to take with her.

James followed, but the raised ring made the ropes too high for him to leap over. He flipped himself up and over the ropes, landing on one knee in a corner for a split second as he gained his bearings. That half second was half a second too long, and the Black Widow used it to bash him over the head with the weight. The Winter Soldier collapsed with a groan, unconscious.

She backed up to the corner opposite him, sliding down the post in exhaustion. Her breath came in quick, heavy pants; she had come looking for a workout and she got more than she'd bargained for. She wrapped her arms around her drawn up knees, eyeing her former instructor warily. His appearance in the cafeteria all those weeks ago had unsettled her, for reasons unknown to Clint, but he hadn't recognized her, hadn't even spared her so much as a second glance. It allowed her to breathe easier until now. Now he'd have questions and might even remember something – anything – about her and their _previous involvement_.

The Black Widow could only pray to some god she knew wasn't listening to the likes of her that the impromptu cognitive recalibration hadn't shaken something unwanted loose in that head of his.


	10. Chapter 10

Alright, this is a long one. I went to see CA: TWS again and worked through the night on this, so hopefully it's up to par. Thank you so much for your continued support and enthusiasm; it does not get old, promise.

In case you're interested, I went back and edited some stuff, most notably Lina and Steve's conversation in chapter five. It doesn't change the story any, I just wanted to get Steve's voice right and it took some doing, but I think I finally got it.

* * *

_**Chapter 10**_

"In that small café,  
The park across the way,  
The children's carousel,  
The chestnut trees, the wishing well  
I'll be seeing you…"

– Billie Holiday, "I'll Be Seeing You"

James awoke some time later to a pounding in his head. He was disoriented and groggy, but on edge. An attempt to open his eyes resulted in a hissing wince, the light painful. The room, from the quick glance he had gotten, was fuzzy and spinning. The shrill beeping noise coming from his right sent sharp stabs of pain to his head. It really wasn't helping him focus. He tried lifting his right arm to cradle his head, but couldn't move it at all. James' eyes flew open to stare at the strong cuff that kept his arm no more than six inches from the rail, made from the same strong metal as the restraint. He looked at his other arm, only to find it magnetically cuffed to the railing on the other side of the cold metal table he was stretched out upon. There was a chair before the table and a pillow under his head, indicating that this was _not _a Hydra facility, _not_ a Hydra operating table, and _not_ in a Hydra lab. He was _not_ a lab rat anymore.

This, however, did not change the fact that he was in a very unfamiliar location and in a very vulnerable position. James felt his hackles rising defensively. He could hear some movement on the other side of a door located about fifteen feet away from him, but it was biometrically locked and there was no window to break through that would allow him to unlock it from the other side. All in all, he was not a happy camper.

A raised voice on the other side of the door caught James' attention. It was masculine, commanding, but not cruel. Definitely not a Hydra facility. It leant him a modicum of comfort. The voices in the corridor hushed, followed by muffled beeps and the door swinging open.

A middle-aged man with mousy brown hair, a receding hairline, kind brown eyes, and a middle-of-the-line suit walked in. "Sergeant Barnes, I'm Director Phil Coulson," he said, voice soft and kind, but neutral. "I'm sorry about the restraints, but we didn't know what kind of state you would be in once you awoke. How are you feeling?"

James nodded. He understood the necessity of such precautions and felt a pang of regret. "A little worse for the wear, but I think I'll pull through," he said dryly. His head gave a very painful twinge, causing him to wince. "What happened? And why isn't Fury in here tanning my hide?"

Coulson snorted amusedly, gently closing the door. "You – or, rather, the Winter Soldier – had an encounter with one of our top operatives and received a mild concussion after she hit you over the head with a weight. She calls it 'cognitive recalibration.' Your enhanced healing abilities have left you with no brain swelling and no laceration, although I imagine you probably have a killer headache."

The twinkle in the man's eyes left James with the nagging suspicion that he was more amused by the situation than he let on. "Cognitive recalibration, huh? It's effective, I'll give your operative that."

Agent Coulson huffed out a laugh as he fished a set of keys from his jacket pocket and began to unlock the cuff on James' right arm. "She gets us the results we want with minimal advertisement of our movements – usually. Mind filling me in on what happened in the gym? I've watched the security footage already, but I'd like to hear it from you."

James eyed Coulson coolly as he set to work freeing the cybernetic limb, flexing his arm to loosen the tensed muscles from being tethered for however long he was out. He sat up and licked his lips, wondering how to go about divulging information about his reversion back to the Winter Soldier, wondering if he had the choice to opt out of this conversation. He harbored no delusions that it would be ignored in his next meeting with Reno and then Coulson would know anyway.

_Debrief now and build a rapport. There's no way you can switch over to civilian life; you're too useful to them and too big a target for Hydra. Maybe you can help enough to see the light of day again. Maybe… maybe you can work with Steve on this_, an optimistic little voice whispered to him.

With that thought, he lifted his carefully hopeful eyes up to meet Coulson's and began telling him about the encounter with the woman with the fiery hair. His memory of the fight was fuzzy, but he did the best he could to describe the trigger and the encounter to the best of his ability. Once the short narrative was over, the older man sized James up. His face was carefully neutral as he seemed to come to some sort of decision.

"Sergeant Barnes," Coulson began, settling into the chair directly in front of James, "you're aware that we have been keeping track of your recovery, and I think that you have made great progress since your introduction to Agent Balitiu and Dr. Reno. If it's alright with you, I would like for us to sit down and discuss your tenure with the Red Room and Hydra in detail. As you may have guessed, Captain Rogers and a couple other Avengers have been working to gather intel and take down key Hydra leaders and suppliers. It's highly personal to them, as it is to you. Any information you can provide would be greatly appreciated. It would also go a long way towards proving that you can work with us as part of a team. Should this prove successful, and should you continue to recover, you'll be given certain privileges."

James could hardly believe his ears. This was so close to his earlier thoughts that he almost asked the man to repeat himself. He was being given an opportunity to work towards making up for – maybe even righting – some of the wrongs he'd committed as a Hydra puppet. It was almost too good to be true. If it wouldn't be the equivalent of looking the gift horse in the mouth, James would be peppering Coulson with suspicious questions. He was being offered a chance at redemption – maybe he couldn't make up for all of his sins, but he could try to get a few tallies in the 'good' column and close the gap a little.

* * *

Lina had received a call in the middle of an advising session, the shrill melody cutting the flustered undergrad off in mid-sentence. She held up a finger and took the call; as the end of the semester loomed ever closer, the literature students assigned to her for advising began appearing for their required meetings. She felt very little pity for taking S.H.I.E.L.D.'s call in the middle of one such meeting; it was the kid's own fault for procrastinating until right before the Thanksgiving break.

"Yes?" she chirped into her Android phone.

"_Agent Balitiu, Sergeant Barnes has suffered a minor relapse. He is currently in the medical bay with a minor concussion. You are to report in as soon as possible_," the cool female voice on the other line said.

She paled, imagination immediately conjuring up the various scenarios that could land the Winter Soldier in the hospital with a concussion, of all things. "Alright, I'll be there in twenty minutes."

With a quick tap, she disconnected the call and began packing her necessaries into her backpack. "I have some personal business to attend to. Enroll in these classes when you get back to your dorm, okay? I promise they'll all be interesting. I think you'll really enjoy the Harlem Renaissance class with Dr. Benavides; she likes to incorporate a lot of female authors, so that should be a good fit with your women's studies minor. Okay, have a good one, bye."

Lina shrugged into her green coat and her creamy scarf, slinging her backpack on as she trailed the bemused girl out of her office. She was in a rush to get to James, worry clouding her features as she rushed through the bustling hall. She was so focused that she didn't know someone was trying to catch her attention until a hand shot out to grasp her upper arm tightly.

Adrenaline spiked and instinct kicked in: she fisted her right hand, whirling to forcefully bring her forearm down on her captor's, breaking his hold on her and eliciting a pained curse.

"Shit, Lina, it's just me! For fuck's sake, what'd you do that for?" David exclaimed, clutching his arm to his chest. People were staring at the scene they were creating.

"Oh, David! Sorry, it was instinct; one too many self-defense classes as a kid, I guess." She shifted impatiently, blushing at the attention. "Did you need something?"

His head shot up from examining his injured arm. "Hm? Oh, yeah! I was kind of hoping to talk to you about your schedule next semester –"

"Look, David," Lina interrupted, hurriedly, "I don't really have time for this right now; a friend of mine is in the hospital and I'm his emergency contact. I need to go." _It's a white lie, and not entirely untrue; no need to feel guilty_, she rationalized, eager to move again. She bounced on the balls of her feet as the hallway started clearing. People were going into classrooms and heading home for the afternoon, and she needed to be walking out the doors too.

David's gray eyes crinkled with dejection and mild annoyance. The combination made her wary. "Who is this _guy_ you're so anxious to meet?" he demanded.

"A friend, no one you know." His sudden jealousy sent another shot of adrenaline through her system. Her hands were starting to shake, so she curled them into loose fists to hide the tremors. "I _really _need to go –"

"You'd be surprised how many people I know in this city; I probably know this _guy _too, or at least I probably know of him." He suddenly grabbed her hands in his, staring intently into her eyes. The contact was awkward, his palms clammy and too soft. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip. "We can discuss next semester later, maybe over dinner one night?"

"I don't know. My evenings are pretty booked, and then we go on break –" Lina was starting to panic now. The hall was empty except for them and his persistence was really putting her on edge.

"Surely you can make time for a colleague," he wheedled, stroking her palm with his thumb.

The motion made her nauseous. "I don't think so, not this close to the end of the semester."

"Then over the winter break. We'll both have plenty of time then." He shifted closer to her and she backed away.

They were close to a wall now, Lina trapped between it and him. "I doubt it; I plan on being at out of the state for most of the break. Now if you'll excuse me…" She yanked herself out of his grasp and used the forward momentum to continue her flight down the hallway. She could feel his heated gaze burning holes in her back the entire way out of the building.

She arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Acme Paper front fifteen minutes later (the bus was running on schedule, a small miracle) and sped down to the underground med bay, still shaking from her encounter with David. A nurse gave her James' room number and she rushed on, barely stopping to receive directions and nod her thanks.

Just as she arrived at the biometrically locked door that held James behind it, Coulson exited with his mouth curved into a small, satisfied smile. Lina froze in her tracks, not believing that he was alive. She had seen him around before the Avengers Initiative was kicked off, had heard that he was serious, but kind. Everyone in every department, from R&D to the engineers to comms, knew of the heroic, almost legendary way he'd died. All agents spoke of him reverently, and now he stood before her. Lina had gathered that S.H.I.E.L.D. had some way of magically saving lives of their most valued members, but the extent of the injury Loki had inflicted upon him had seemed too great to overcome.

Apparently they were all wrong. She stared, eyes wide behind her glasses. "S-sir," she stammered.

He nodded to her. "Agent Balitiu, it's good to see you. I'm glad you could make it here so quickly. I'm sure Sergeant Barnes will be happy to see you."

Coulson turned on his highly polished heel to join his companion, a striking Asian woman with an intimidating glare, who stood just down the hall.

With a quick shake, she collected herself enough to ask, "Sir? I'm sorry, but –"

He turned back around, almost releasing a weary sigh. His impeccable self-control kept it from escaping. "Yes, I'm alive, don't worry about how. I wanted to debrief the sergeant about the circumstances that landed him here; I'm sure he'll tell you the rest. You've been doing really good work with him, thank you. That, and how many times do you get to meet the long-presumed dead best friend of Captain America?" he asked with an almost childlike glee glittering in his brown eyes.

"It is pretty wild stuff," she agreed, "but I was just going to ask for clearance to unlock the door."

"Oh. Right." Coulson sheepishly moved to do just that. "Don't worry about clearance; go right in. It will open right up when you two need to leave."

They nodded to each other, and she stepped into the stark white room: white walls lined with stainless steel cabinets and medical equipment, white floor tiles with a drain under the table, and the smell of bleach and disinfectant leant the space a sinister feel. The metal slab that was anchored to the middle of the floor stopped Lina dead in her tracks, heart hammering. _This _was where they had put James after a relapse? It had to be some sick joke. The stainless steel chair in between the door and the table only added to the room's creepy vibe. There were metal rails on either side of the table with cuffs dangling.

Her eyes frantically searched for James, desperate to ensure his well-being. They landed on him examining his reflection in a side panel of one of the cabinets. "My hair is so long; I look like a hooligan. Do you think they have a barber stashed around here? I want to cut it."

Lina swallowed, dislodging her heart from her throat, leaning against the door for support. "Are you okay? I got a phone call saying you had a concussion. What happened?"

"I had a minor relapse and the redheaded woman from the overpass fight last year hit me over the head with a weight. They're calling it 'cognitive recalibration,'" he snorted. "That sounds ridiculous, right?"

"Which part?" she asked weakly, heart rate finally slowing to normal. The stress from the past half hour was fading, leaving exhaustion in its wake. "You're okay, though, right?"

James nodded, still avoiding looking at her. "My head is still ringing a bit. Coulson is in charge now, did you know that? Fury only steps in for special cases, like the Winter Soldier. He offered me a chance to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. to take down Hydra once and for all."

"What did you say?" Her interest was piqued. She knew something big had to be happening now that Coulson was revealed to be alive; it seemed logical that the agency was working to dismantle Hydra. The two organizations had an almost age-old feud, going all the way back to ancient Egypt and Imhotep. The Brotherhood of the Shield and the Brotherhood of the Spear may have morphed and adapted to the various eras of civilization, and they may have disappeared for periods of time, but they never truly died. It made sense that James would want to be a part of the fight to eliminate the Brotherhood of the Spear – Hydra – once and for all.

"I accepted. We're going to meet next Thursday to share intel." He saw her open her mouth to extend an offer to stay and support him through the meeting, and cut her off by saying, "Reno will be there to monitor it. Don't worry about it, go home to your family." There was no hiding the wistfulness in his voice.

"Maybe, if you're cleared for it, we can get you Christmas clearance to venture off-campus. Either way, I'll be happy to fly back here on Christmas Day to spend it with you," Lina offered, already planning to change that flight plan once she got to a computer.

James thought about it for a moment before nodding. The idea of spending his first real Christmas since the forties alone was bleaker than even he was comfortable with. "If you can manage that, and if your family is okay with it, I won't complain. I've finally started to enjoy your company," he joked, flashing his crooked smile at her.

"Yeah, yeah. You're not too bad either, Sarge." She cleared the distance between them in a few steps and wrapped her arms around his waist, worry causing her grip to be a little tighter than usual. "Now I just need to figure out what to get you for Christmas…"

His flesh and blood arm pulled her body closer. He avoided touching anyone, himself included, with the cybernetic limb that still had that grotesque red star emblazoned on it. The familiar intimacy of the hug did more to calm all of her worries than any self-defense know-how and seemingly-immortal agents ever would. "Lina," he murmured. She loved the sound of her name on his tongue. "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth."

Lina scowled up at him, playfully poking her tongue out. His responding chuckle reverberated through her body and her heart fluttered happily. "I can't do that, but I _can_ cut your hair after I get back. Deal?"

"Deal."

* * *

Travelling the week of Thanksgiving was no mean feat. Lina landed at Hobby Airport in Houston three hours later than scheduled, thanks to a chain reaction that all started with snow in Milwaukee. The bustling hub of international transportation was packed to the seams. She was glad she'd decided to rent a car instead of attempting to find her family in all of the madness. After more waiting and squeezing herself through the crowds, Lina finally collected her suitcase, Ziggy's cat carrier, and her rental keys and hit the highway south towards her home.

The commute that normally took half an hour turned into a two and a half hour nightmare. The freeways were congested with the after work rush, the home from school crowd, and the out-of-towners, and there was a four car pile-up to boot. Still, Lina had her iPod plugged in, so she was content to uninhibitedly sing along.

Ziggy, used to such antics from her human, was peacefully curled up on her favorite blanket with her favorite jingle toy in the backseat. She liked her cat carrier and occasionally slept there in the apartment, so taking long trips in it was unpleasant, but doable. She had cried for a while on the flight, but her human had saved her from further indignity before too much time had passed. Soon enough the calico would be free to roam around and she was content to wait.

Eventually they made it to Lina's parents' home on the bay. Her family came rushing out of the lovely two-story, Spanish-style house when they heard the car door slam shut, enthusiastic exclamations of "Oh, honey! We've missed you so much!" and "It's good to see you, Lina-bear" echoing off the water and around the cul de sac. Bear hugs and secret sibling handshakes were exchanged, Ziggy's carrier was liberated from the car (Lina's oldest brother, Gerry, warned her: "keep an eye on your jungle beast; Lily likes to tug on tails."), and the happy party ventured inside.

She deposited her suitcase and carryon in her childhood bedroom, noting that very little had changed since her years at a local university. The bookcases stood empty, except for the board games for the kids. The posters were gone and had been replaced with lovely landscapes and photos of Galveston. The feminine glass and metal vanity and full-sized bed remained exactly the same, the black and white floral print comforter unchanged. Lina toed off her flats, feet sinking into the plush carpeting with a sigh of relief.

The calico began crying shrilly, eager to be set loose. Lina, knowing the unhappy cat was in no state to handle her rambunctious nieces, quickly reached down to open the pet carrier. Once Ziggy was freed, she stretched and began exploring her immediate surroundings. The window seat instantly became the cat's perch of choice, and the only sound she emitted was that of a contented purr.

The cacophony of voices, toys that played music, and the television filled the sizeable house with the noise that Lina hadn't realized she'd been missing. She was home; it smelled like her mom's favorite hazelnut air freshener, something savory bubbling on the stove, and her father's aftershave. They were the three best smells in the world.

_Well, maybe not the only three… _ Her thoughts inadvertently flashed to James and his piney, soapy scent. Even though no one was around to see or guess where her mind had wandered to, she still blushed.

She shook the thoughts away and headed downstairs after a quick trip to the hall bath, where she splashed cold water on her face. The smell of their late dinner grew stronger, as did the din of people and a too-loud news show. Everyone, excepting her mother and grandmother, was settled in the living room, and no one had noticed her quiet appearance in the living room entrance. She took this rare chance to watch her family fondly, leaning her shoulder against the archway. Pawpaw Gerard, the firm believer in all things Fox News (except Glenn Beck; he was too nutty for the pragmatic Southern man), was playing peek-a-boo with the two year old Rosie Leigh, completely disregarding the television in favor of his great-granddaughter.

Gerry, the eldest of Eileen and Beniamin's brood, was seated on the love seat with Greg, the middle child, discussing work (Gerry worked as a biochemical engineer at a refinery and Greg was out at NASA with their dad) and raising little girls. There were no male grandchildren yet, but Sara, Greg's long-term girlfriend and now fiancée, was pregnant again. Greg was praying for a son. They already had twin six year old girls, Mackenzie and Laurel, so a boy would be a welcome addition. Gerry, named after Pawpaw, was about to celebrate his ten year anniversary with his wife, Julia, and they had two daughters running around. Little Rosie, now poking Pawpaw's puffed out cheeks, and their four year old, Lily, who was entertaining herself with her G.I. Joe in a tutu over by her mother. Gerry and Jules were perfectly content with their two girls, and they felt no rush to have another child.

Sara and Julia were chatting in the plush chairs by the floor-to-ceiling bay windows, keeping the littlest ones in line with Etch-a-sketches and Lina's old Beanie Babies. It sounded like they were discussing the pros and cons of being a stay at home or work-from-home mom as opposed to working outside of the house and leaving the kids with their aging great-grandparents or hiring caretakers. Sara worked seventy hours a week or more and felt guilty about it, Lina knew, and Jules was a work-from-home mom; her office (she was some kind of techie whiz at an oil and gas company) allowed and encouraged that. Sara was an attorney, and convincing her boss to let her telecommute was proving to be an exhaustive battle. She looked close to angry tears just talking about it.

Beniamin, or Benjy as Pawpaw teasingly called him, was nowhere to be found in the living room; Lina assumed he was setting the table.

The hubbub and chatter made their large family home seem cozy. She could hear her mom and Granny in the kitchen chattering away about the house being full again and some of the girls' antics from earlier.

Lina loved the holidays – the smells, the foods, the uninterrupted family time – but she always felt a hollow pang in her chest when she looked around and saw everyone joyously paired off with little ones vying for attention and affection. She'd had it all for a couple of years, that someone to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her close. She'd even been close to having a child with him, but she had torn herself away from all of that two years before. Her arms crossed protectively across her belly as the pang grew stronger.

A part of her still mourned for that baby she'd felt growing, the baby she'd miscarried after Andrew had gotten violent one early December morning. They had been engaged to be engaged, but kept stalling after he returned from his second tour in Afghanistan. That was a mutual decision, so Lina had continued focusing on work and her studies. After almost five years together, she really didn't mind waiting some more. They'd had other, bigger concerns than marriage.

She had just been starting her doctoral program at Georgetown when they discovered the pregnancy. He had been doing so well, going to appointments and meetings, and the baby encouraged Andrew to do even better. The fights had almost stopped, his violent outbursts and flashbacks dropped to zero. Her bruises healed and they laughed more. He'd been less volatile and more like his pre-tour self: the joyful, funny man she'd fallen in love with. They didn't even make it through the first trimester before he'd had a really terrible relapse that resulted in her being rushed to the ER and the loss of the pregnancy. After that, they only made it another three months before Lina had to end things with him for good.

As she watched Rosie Leigh playing with Pawpaw, Lina tried to imagine what her child – who would have been the same age – would have been like. Would it have been a girl with her curling golden hair and rosy cheeks? Would it have been a boy with wild sandy hair and mischievous eyes? Lina released her melancholy in a heavy sigh, turning to use the hall entrance to the kitchen, when a heavy arm wrapped itself around her shoulders. The smell of her father's cologne enveloped her, his bearded jaw tickling her temple.

"_How are you, my bear?_" Beniamin asked softly, his deep bass voice rumbling like thunder.

"_I'm fine, papa_. _ Just nostalgic, imagining the impossible. Don't worry, it's a passing flight of fancy,_" she answered with a smile. It didn't convince him.

He drew back a little to get a better look at his only daughter. "_I saw you watching the girls. I know what that look meant. Your mother used to get the same expression before we had you; she always wanted a girl, and was jealous of those who had one."_

Of her family, only her parents knew the whole story about the extent of the abuse and the pregnancy that only started because of Andrew's PTSD. Her brothers and sisters-in-law knew about his trauma from being in combat and about the fights, but that was all Lina would allow them to know. It had been two years since it all ended, and she was doing incredibly well. That was all that mattered. These little musings were normal, especially in a single twenty-eight year old woman at the holidays who'd always dreamed of being a mother.

She nodded. "_I know, but I am fine. I promise. Besides, we all know that it was you that wanted a daughter the most,_" she joked. "Come on, I think I smell granny's cornbread. You know we won't get any if we don't get in there now…"

Beniamin smiled at his youngest child as she gave him a peck on the cheek and wandered her way into the kitchen. She smiled so brightly and deflected so well that almost no one knew anything was wrong. He knew how to read her though, as did her mother. Hopefully she'd find the peace of mind she needed from being home with her family for a week. That was one of the best cures for any ill, according to his mother, Elke, may she rest in peace. Family, pretzels with brown mustard, and a good beer could repair anything.

The middle-aged man followed his daughter into the kitchen, chuckling as she received a delighted play-smack with a kitchen towel for snitching a slice of her granny's delectable cornbread. He snuck behind his wife and pulled her flush against him.

Eileen was a full-figured woman who had raised three good children and made good food; her blonde hair was shot through with silver and she had lines around her eyes, but their stormy gray hue remained as vibrant as they were on the day he'd met her. He murmured something in her ear and delighted in her blush, blissfully unaware of the two other sets of eyes on them.

Lina and her granny, Henrietta, exchanged a pointed look. The older woman grabbed the squirt bottle full of water that was usually reserved for the dogs (currently sleeping in the backyard) and pumped three shots of water at the man canoodling with her daughter. "You may be married, and you may be parents, but I do _not _want to see you making love to my daughter," Henrietta teased in her heavily accented English. "Check the rice, _ma petite_. Call in the troops, Benjy. Lina, _ma coeur, _will you get us some bowls down, _s'il vous plait_? _Merci, _the beans are done." The woman ran her kitchen with military-like precision. It was a thing to be admired and feared.

_It's good to be home_.


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, this has no James/Lina interaction in it. It's purely family time with the Balitiu's. I think you'll like it, despite the distinct lack of fluff in it. This would have been longer, but it came to a natural stop all on its own. Hooray character background building! Bucky will be back in the next installment, so hold off on lobbing rotten veggies at me for a while, okay? Cool, deal. Enjoy!

* * *

_**Chapter 11**_

"I sit in and dwell on faces past  
Like memories seem to fade;  
No color left but black and white  
And soon will all turn grey,  
But may these shadows rise to walk again  
With lessons truly learnt  
When the blossom flowers in each our hearts  
Shall beat a newfound flame…"

-Flogging Molly, "Drunken Lullabies"

Holidays in the Balitiu household were like a tightly choreographed dance of chaos. Children were running mad up and down the stairs; her grandmother's schnauzers were barking up a storm; Ziggy was mewling petulantly from a high shelf, begging for the little girls to be called off her trail; the men were trying to keep a leash on the girls, but wound up more focused on the football game between the red team and the blue team (sports flew over Lina's head), and the women were all cooking up a frenzy in the large, hot kitchen. No surface escaped untouched. Dirty bowls and pans lined the counters and filled the sink, while the oven was filled to capacity with a line of dishes waiting their turn to enter. The outside refrigerator was full of desserts and salads that had been made the night before.

The preceding days had passed just as quickly as the holiday itself was; Lina couldn't believe how much they had managed to do in so little time. The day after she'd landed her sisters-in-law had gotten it into their heads to drive into the city to shop at the Galleria, just the adult women. The traffic was horrendous between the churchgoers at Lakewood and the construction in the area (Houston was always under construction; I-45 holds a world record for being the freeway that has been undergoing repairs the longest), and the giant mall was packed. They did get some decent breaks on clothing and some toys for the girls, thanks to holiday sales and specials. Lina did not envy the teenaged girl who checked them out, customer service was always a nightmare at the holidays. The party had watched teenagers and children ice skating on the bottom level of the mall while eating their lunch, and she had some time to really talk to her sisters and mom.

"Greg is a madman lately, what with another baby on the way," Sara was saying between bites of her cheeseburger. "He wants a boy so badly, and the waiting is just eating at him. He's already started in on redecorating the nursery."

Eileen smiled contentedly, happy at the prospect of another baby in her brood. Being a grandmother suited the wily blonde woman. "I think he's more concerned with you having a happy, healthy pregnancy and a healthy baby than anything else. The sex is secondary to that."

Sara nodded, her mouth full of food. "I'm sorry," she said, hiding the lower half of her face behind her paper napkin. "I'm craving nothing but meat with this one. Greg is convinced it means he's finally going to have a son. We'll find out for sure in another month." She rolled her brown eyes at her fiancé's antics.

"Gerry was like that when I was expecting Rosie. 'This one's going to a boy, I can just feel it,'" Julia said, lowering her voice in a comedic imitation of her husband. "'He's going to be an athlete, just like his parents.' It was ridiculous. I cackled when we found out we were having another girl, _cackled_. I scared the doctor."

"The boys really do think they know best, don't they?" Sara commiserated.

Eileen smiled knowingly, "They've always been that way, just like their grandfather. Their stubbornness is hereditary. All of my children got that particular gift in spades – it's from their father, of course. My mother and I are as delicate as flowers."

The three younger women all laughed appreciatively as Eileen tried to look innocent and pliable. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief.

"You're about as delicate as a cactus," Lina chortled, squeezing her mother's hand gently. She'd been quiet most of the day, preferring to listen to her family's stories. It helped keep her calm in the tightly packed space of the mall. It also didn't help that she felt like there were eyes on her at all times. She wrote it off as part of her uneasiness in the masses of fellow shoppers.

Her sisters turned on her then. "What about you? Any male _friends_ you'd like to tell us about?" Jules asked.

Sara nodded eagerly, red ponytail bouncing eagerly. "Yes, Little Lina, dish on the men in your glamorous East Coast life."

The blonde snorted derisively. "My life is _far_ from glamorous, and the men are few and far between in the romance department. So few and far between, in fact, that they might be called _nonexistent_." She readjusted the straw in her soda, causing it to squeak shrilly.

The quartet winced. "And in the non-romance department?" Julia prodded. "C'mon, dish. We don't get to date and play anymore – not that that's a bad thing – so we relive those days through you and TiVo."

"I don't know… I don't really go out, you know?" Her sisters nodded understandingly, and her mother listened with a delicate blonde eyebrow arched. "I mean – I kind of met someone. We're just really good friends, and I'm helping him through some stuff – PTSD stuff – because we speak most of the same languages and we both have dark stuff in our pasts, and we just _click_, you know? I think I'm the only person he really trusts, but Dr. Reno is trying to help him like he helped me. I was actually hoping to bring him with me for Christmas if he gets clearance for travel."

Eileen looked stunned. "You _want_ to bring a man home for the holidays?"

Sara and Julia were barely containing their excitement. "You want to bring a _man_ home?"

Lina smirked at them, primly eating a french fry. "Not that I think this will illicit the same level of excitement, but I got my translating job back too."

Eileen collected herself first. "That's wonderful, sweeting. I remember how fond of it you were. You stopped getting assignments about, what, a year ago?"

"Yeah, give or take a couple of months. That's actually how I met my friend after he got back on this side of things." They were pointedly ignoring the two women bristling with impatience on the other side of their small food court table.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, this side of the ocean. He's been overseas for quite some time," Lina said, casually providing necessary information but remaining as vague as possible. She didn't want to lie to her mother, of all people, but she couldn't reveal anything about James' history. Not only was it highly classified information, but it was his business to reveal or retain as he saw fit. Her family deserved to know what they could about such a prominent person in her life, but no more than was appropriate. She'd prepare him for their questions if he ever met them.

"It's rather kind of you to help him after everything that you've been through," her mother was saying, tenderly tugging a curl in Lina's ponytail. "I'm proud you turned out so well, no matter what your father says about you."

Lina smiled at the old joke that both of her parents made.

"Okay, so not to ruin this lovely moment – because I love you, Lina, and hate the crap you've been through; really, I want you to be happy – but you're seriously not going to tell us this guy's name, rank, what he looks like, _nothing_? It's time for girl talk, so talk." Sara was the first to burst, her typical impatience winning out.

They all laughed merrily, Julia nodding in agreement with the redhead.

"I'm curious too; I want to know if I'm going to get a piece of man-candy as my son-in-law," Eileen stated imperiously, delighting in her youngest child's blush and embarrassed fidgeting. "I need more good-looking grandchildren, you know." Her mother's sense of humor – it never got old.

"It's – we're – No, we're not like that. We're just really good friends, honestly. Anyway. His name is James, and he's a sergeant. Army, I believe. He's got more snark in his pinky finger than most men I know, and he can be a complete asshole, but even on his worst day he's a better person than Andrew ever was. And yes, he's gorgeous. Like… dark and brooding and utterly charming kind of gorgeous. I'm very firmly convinced that he was never short a date before being shipped off." She blushed even darker at describing James like that. Sure, she knew he was an attractive man, but she'd never admitted it aloud before witnesses until now. She deliberately left out The Incident, not wanting to paint James in a bad light over something that he couldn't really be faulted for.

"Ugh. He sounds dreamy," Julia huffed. "Gerry's perfect and I love him, but he's such a huge geek. When news of that alien attack hit and Captain America's existence was proven, he almost wet himself as he ran to break his old comic books out. It was adorable, but definitely not dreamy."

"I can't believe he still has those old things," Eileen sighed, embarrassed and charmed that her eldest son still held on to that part of his childhood. "He always went as Captain America for Halloween. He never missed a year. Even in college, he dressed as the Captain."

Julia nodded, her cheeks flushing pink. "I remember; I dressed as Miss Marvel one year for a party, and that's how we met. I doubt he would have looked twice at me if it hadn't been for that damn costume."

Sara and Lina cackled gleefully; they'd never been privy to that information before. Lina couldn't wait to give her big brother hell.

The rest of her week had passed in a similar fashion, with much laughter and happiness. She was rarely alone long enough to think too much or too deeply about her life in DC. She had let slip to her father about David and his increased attentions, so they wound up out behind the garage throwing knives at an old target. Gerry and Greg eventually found them and engaged her in some practice sparring, just to keep her in shape should anything untoward happen. They worried about their baby sister, especially since she lived so far from the nest. It wasn't feasible for them to drop everything and fly out to beat up every guy who looked at her the wrong way like they had growing up.

She and her nieces had wound up having a Disney princess movie marathon that same night while their parents had date nights. The girls were wound up on sugar and the kind of excitement that Disney is so good at tapping into, and they ended up singing along to all of the songs and arguing over which princess is the best (Lina firmly stuck by her preference of Belle) until they all fell asleep on the large plush sofa in the living room. Rosie Leigh slept curled tightly into Lina's lap, and Lily's head rested on Lina's chest as she drooled slightly. Mackenzie had her head on the opposite arm of the couch and she was stretched out farther than her six-year-old body should have rightly been as her more soft-spoken twin nuzzled into her feisty sister's side. Their feet were tucked between Lily's body and the back of the couch.

Lina reveled in it. She'd always dreamed of being surrounded by children and of having nights like this. She ignored the twinge in her heart that said it would be better if she were surrounded by her children, not her brothers'. She loved her nieces more than anything and wouldn't trade this time with them to be anywhere else. She fell asleep once Ziggy planted herself on the back of the couch behind Lina's head, only to be awoken by her parents coming in to take the girls to their beds.

They all ignored the sight of tears in her mother's eyes as she was reminded of the child that had been stolen from her daughter.

"Lina! Mind the turkey," her fearsome grandmother scolded as she waved the baster in Lina's face.

Lina was jerked out of her thoughts at the appearance of the threatening kitchen utensil. She leapt away from her out-of-the-way spot where she'd been quietly peeling potatoes to baste the bird in its buttery champagne juices, almost colliding with the petite Cajun woman. "Sorry, granny."

Her bashful grin earned her an affectionate pat on the cheek from a wrinkled hand. "_C'est bien_. We just can't have a dry bird, _pas aussi proche de l'heure du dîner, vous comprenez_?" (It's fine; not this close to dinner time, understand?)

Sara and Julia looked supremely relieved that it wasn't them on the receiving end of Henrietta's lecture. Her stern words and disappointed expression had almost had Julia in tears when she'd let the turkey get too browned one Thanksgiving when she and Gerry had first been married. Sara lived in fear of the day she let her granny-in-law down in the kitchen.

A shout (whether it was of disappointment or excitement, they couldn't tell) sounded from the living room before the men fell into relative silence again. The five women shared wide-eyed looks of confusion before laughter erupted at the expense of their male relations.

The cooking resumed, and soon the meal was ready to be consumed by all the greedy stomachs that had been sitting empty in preparation for their feast all day.

The four nieces sat at a smaller kiddy table and they squabbled over who would get the last crescent roll in their little bread basket. Eileen settled their tiff by silently depositing more rolls in the little woven basket while they were preoccupied with their daddies shouting at the television again.

The four grown men had chosen seats at the grown up table that afforded them the best view of the television that stubbornly remained on. Gerard had hidden the remote in the pocket of his slacks, so every time his wife got up to turn the television off he sneakily clicked the power button, and the game was back on. Henrietta eventually gave up and delivered a gentle slap to her husband's shoulder as she resumed her seat.

Greg and Gerry delighted in playing keep-away with the adults' bread basket, torturing their little sister like they did whenever they were reunited. Lina got her payback by holding the apple pie she'd made hostage. Everyone got a rather large slice except her brothers (what they didn't know was that there was another one sitting in the outside fridge, and she didn't care to inform them until they'd groveled properly).

"Mom," Greg whined pitifully, turning on his puppy face, "make Lina give us some of her pie."

Eileen looked at her son archly as she slowly slid another bite of her own pie into her mouth. "You shouldn't have kept the rolls away from your sister; you know how much she loves bread."

He clasped his hands tightly over his heart, gasping dramatically. "Your harsh words strike me to the quick! Mother, how could you abandon us in this time of great need?!"

Lina rolled her eyes at her brother's dramatics. He always had been an attention hog. She contented herself just to watch as she curled around her bowl of pie protectively.

"Quite easily," Eileen retorted drily. "Lina Bear, this pie really is divine. You outdid yourself."

"Why, thank you, mom! I'm glad you think so. It _really_ is a pity that there wasn't enough for the boys. Maybe next year they'll have learned their lesson and be lucky enough to get some."

"I do hope so, dear. If I were a more selfless person, I'd allow them to share mine. However, I've forgone too many years of self-indulgence to deny myself a slice of pie, especially in the face of such cruelty." She winked conspiratorially at her daughter. She didn't get to tease and play with all of her children often enough, so she wasn't about to spoil this too-rare occasion by telling her eldest offspring about the extra pie.

Her husband, however, seemed to have missed the memo. "I thought I saw a spare apple pie in the other fridge," he said around his mouthful of the rich dessert. They boys (Eileen still thought of them that way in a stubborn attempt to keep them from getting too grown up) looked at each other ecstatically, racing each other out to the garage to get the most coveted pie.

"Thank you for spoiling my fun, dearest," Eileen quipped at her husband, only mildly annoyed at the great bearded man who had settled on the arm of her chair and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"Delighted to be of service,_ pisoi._" (Kitten in Romanian)

Lina loved seeing her parents like this, relaxed and still in love after all their years together. She was happy that her brothers had managed to find equally loving relationships; they had been surrounded by so much warmth and light and love growing up that it was never even a consideration that they _wouldn't_ all find relationships like their parents' and grandparents'.

_I wish I could come home more often; I miss this so much when I'm back in DC. I don't think I could live here again, it would become too stifling, but I do wish I could see them more._ Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Gerry and Greg squabbling as they came back inside, pie clutched possessively between them.

_I do love visiting, though_, Lina smiled softly to herself.

The next day, Friday, was the day before her flight back to DC. She knew it was going to be a nightmare, one of the busiest travel days in the country, but it was what allowed her maximum family time without skimping on the necessary rest before classes started back up. With only one more real week of classes, Lina had to be in tiptop shape.

She packed everything back up and made sure she spent the entire day with her family, trying not to miss a single minute. Her grandparents were exhausted after the previous day, but they had made an effort to be in the main house for dinner. They had to see their only granddaughter off properly, of course. Gerard did his "secret" handshake with Lina and allowed her to kiss his cheek tenderly (he wasn't overly fond of displays of affection due to his less than stellar upbringing, but he made an exception for his little granddaughter. She was the light of his life and could do very little wrong in his eyes) before he shuffled out to the little guest cottage he and Henrietta lived in.

His wife folded Lina into a long hug, rocking back and forth as she sniffed back tears. "_Tu vas me manquer, ma chérie alouette. Je vais vous manquer énormément. Soyez sûr, entendez-vous? Je veux que tu reviennes dans une seule pièce pour Noël. Je t'aime._" (I will miss you, my little lark. I will miss you enormously. Be safe, do you hear? I want you back in one piece for Christmas. I love you.)

"_Je t'aime aussi, mamie_," Lina murmured against her granny's hair, clutching the elderly woman as tightly as she dared. Leaving her aging grandparents behind was always the hardest part. (I love you too, granny.)

Henrietta cupped her granddaughter's cheeks and smiled softly as she followed her husband of over fifty years out the door.

After they'd made their way back to their little house, Lina ventured out to the back patio where she sat and watched the few feeble stars that managed to break through the light pollution reflected on the water. That was one of the beauties of living on the bay, twice the stars. Once the rest of the house had settled down, Eileen made her way out to join her daughter.

They sat in a companionable silence until Lina worked up her nerve to ask a question that had been eating at her for a while – ever since her spat with James.

"Mom? Do you… do you think anyone can ever be too broken down to love?"

Her voice was so tiny and uncertain that it nearly broke Eileen's heart. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before saying, "I think that a well-treated dog, once abused, still remembers the good treatment. I think that dog wonders what it did to deserve such cruelty, and – once freed of it – loves more eagerly, but maybe not more freely, than it did before. I think the same can be said of people. Once trust has been broken, it cannot be rebuilt and still be the same as it was before. It takes time, and a realization of the changes that have occurred, but once trust has been established, love will follow."

Lina choked back the tears that had welled up while her mother had been speaking in that low, soothing voice of hers. "But can someone be broken past the point of being able to love?"

"Only if they never knew it in the first place. Why are you asking, sweeting?" She already knew – of course she knew, this was her daughter, the girl she knew inside and out – but she needed Lina to say it, otherwise she would shut off and refuse to listen. Her guard would go up, and that is the absolute last thing a mother wanted to see her child throw up against her.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, one incapable of breaking it, the other knowing better than to push. Lina did things in her own time, in her own way. Pushing her simply made her run in the opposite direction and slightly to the left.

The younger blonde used that time to clear her throat of the knot that had formed in it while she tried to put her swirling thoughts into words. "I'm –" she cleared her throat delicately "—I'm afraid that I can't let anyone in enough to love them. After Andrew… I thought I had been drained completely dry of all good, all love, all _life_. He very nearly killed me that last day, you know? And I still feel that way sometimes: helpless, defenseless, hollow. I don't know if I can ever escape from that shadow and properly love someone again."

Eileen already knew better, and informed her daughter of as much.

"How? _How_ do you know?"

"Because I know you, _alouette_. You can't help but love. That's all you do. Look at that little soldier man you've mentioned. You said that he trusts you –"

"I said I _think_ he trusts me. There's a difference."

Eileen barreled on like she hadn't been interrupted. "—and that means you've shown him enough of your compassion and heart to get him to that point. All you have to keep doing is walking that path, so to speak, and you'll find yourself at Love's door. All you have to do is knock."

"I don't know how to knock," Lina grumbled, fisting her hands into the sleeves of her oversized college hoodie. Her knees were already tucked up underneath it in an attempt to stay warm.

"You always were a stubborn creature," Eileen sighed. "I really don't know where you get it from. You know well and good how to knock, you're just going to fight yourself silly trying not to. But that's the thing, _alouette_: you can't _not_ knock. It goes against your nature."

Lina mulled that over, turning her mother's words over in her mind, before settling on a reply that served to mask her vulnerability with humor. "Clearly my nature has no inkling about that neat thing called 'self-preservation.'"

"They never do." Eileen humored her child, knowing that she'd had more than enough of the mushy-gushy stuff. "Come on, you need to get some rest before your flight tomorrow morning. No sense in you catching ill before finals week."

They both stood slowly, relishing the view, before walking back into the nice, toasty house hand in hand.

Lina paused at the stairs, tugging her mom to a stop with her. "I love you, mama. More than I can ever put into words. Thank you." She enveloped the older blonde woman in a tight hug that conveyed more meaning than her words ever could.

"I love you too, precious. Sweet dreams."

They kissed each other on the cheek and parted ways.


	12. Chapter 12

I love all of the feedback you guys give! You really know how to make a girl feel good about what she's putting out there. It also encourages me to write and update faster.

Before we dive in, if you want to listen to the music I have verses to in each chapter, I'm thinking about putting links up on my profile. What do you think about that?

Oh, and the thing that Dr. Reno quotes is a line from Shakespeare's _King Lear_ 3.4.19-20. It seemed entirely too appropriate.

And before anyone asks how I know Bucky was drafted into WWII, his tag number starts with '3 2' when he's repeating it in Zola's lab in the first movie. An enlisted man – those who volunteered – had tag numbers starting with '1 2.' The involuntaries, the drafted men all had numbers that began with '3 2.' He never wanted to be there in the first place, but how could he really say that to Steve, the scrawny guy who wanted nothing more than to be a hero? He couldn't, so he lied.

* * *

_**Chapter 12**_

"When there is nobody left to call,  
And you're surrounded by these walls  
I'll make them fall. I'll make them fall…"

-Nashville Cast (Hayden Panettiere), "Consider Me"

Lina's flight back to DC landed with no complications or delays – a small miracle at that time of year – and she hailed a cab back to her apartment, poor Ziggy fussing all the way. She had a game plan for the rest of the day already laid out: head home, free the cat, take a nap, shower, pick up a pizza and a pie, and spend the evening with James. It sounded like a winner to her. Maybe she'd give him that haircut he'd been so anxious for, if they felt up to messing with it.

Her visit home had been exactly what she'd needed. All the doubts she'd been having over her self-worth, some of the fears about being unlovable had been laid to rest. Sure, she still carried some scars that would never fully fade. Sure, she had some _quirks_ that would never diminish, no matter how strange or off-putting they may be. She also had a warm, loving family that was all too happy to remind her that she was still a whole person worth loving, and she needed that kick in the rear sometimes.

She smiled brightly at the cabby as she paid and bounced up the stairs to her building. Lina felt lighter that she had in weeks, happier, more like herself. It was a beautiful thing.

* * *

James was pissed.

No, he was beyond pissed. A thundering volcano of rage was a mediocre comparison to his anger. He stalked down the halls of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s labyrinthine facility from the gym towards his room, glowering icily at anyone unlucky enough to cross his path.

The debriefings had hit a wall. He had started out giving names, their ranks within Hydra, providing information on their requested hits – all of it. He held nothing back. Those names were then cross-referenced with all U.S. government databases, and a list had been compiled for future monitoring. Intel was being gathered, people were making plans and operatives would eventually be released to infiltrate and take down these Hydra members.

Once the names had run out (he had a short list of names; they were unnecessary, dangerous even, to the Winter Soldier. Names were extraneous information that he only really gathered on accident), he'd been given pictures of suspected Hydra members. He'd either confirm or deny their involvement with that organization based on who he'd met with or seen around various bases around the world. The denial pile turned into the uncertainty pile, and it was much larger than he would have liked. It frustrated James to be unable to give as much information as he had hoped to. He told them the locations of holding facilities and bases he'd been deployed from, but they had all been abandoned since his disappearance – _since you went AWOL_, his mind whispered slyly.

Coulson had been patient and understanding at their first two meetings, grateful for any new information he could offer, and there was quite a bit of that. While the older (in appearance, anyway) man was no longer surprised at how far-reaching Hydra's tentacles were, he hadn't realized just how many world conflicts were the products of Hydra.

Today, though. _Today_, Coulson had sent news of something bigger that demanded his attention and his apologies through a replacement agent. The spindly, weasel-y little man had looked over the notes from the previous meetings, eyed James over his thick glasses and thin mustache only to say that it looked like James had reached the end of his usefulness to S.H.I.E.L.D.

Dr. Reno's eyebrows shot up higher than James had ever seen them go as the older man demanded more information. "What does this mean for Sergeant Barnes, here?"

The drippy agent sniveled as he organized his papers. "He will remain in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody for the time being."

"And his deal with Director Coulson? The one they worked out Thursday afternoon, regarding his potential as a field operative with Captain Rogers?" Reno pressed. James could see the anger mounting in the kind man's eyes.

"I will advise Director Coulson to retract that offer, unless some unavoidable but necessary wetwork arises."

James felt the blood drain from his face. Wetwork. Assassination. Murder. More blood on his hands. More murder in the name of his country, ordered deaths under the guise of duty. He looked at Reno frantically. He couldn't go back to that life. He couldn't be used like that, not again. If Coulson actually considered that, James would claw his way out of the hidey-hole he was in and disappear. He had earned the reputation of being a ghost for good reason.

Vaguely he noted that his body was shaking with barely contained fear and anger. It felt surreal, like he was watching all of this happen to someone else.

"It's _your_ opinion, correct? _You _will be _advising_ the director that this is what you should do? What are Coulson's thoughts on this crock you're pushing?" Reno's voice rumbled, low and menacing. He rose to his feet beside James, his heavy hand resting on his patient's shoulder comfortingly in a gesture of solidarity.

The rodent-like man bristled, gathering the limited authority his role as proxy afforded around himself like a cloak. "He is currently unaware of my assessment, but I will lend it my strongest recommendation."

"If I were to tell you that _my_ assessment, as the chief doctor on Sergeant Barnes' case, was that such a course of action would be highly detrimental – irreparable – would you still pursue it?"

"I would take your opinion under advisement, _doctor_."

A low growl silenced the squabbling men.

James realized that he was the one to make the feral sound. He stood smoothly, silently, and stalked around the steel table to take the wispy little man by the collar. James held him aloft with his softly whirring arm, watching the pulse in the man's neck accelerate.

His voice was low when he spoke, barely above a whisper, and all the more intimidating for the control it displayed. "The next time you even _think_ of suggesting that I do the dirty work for your organization, run. I'm sure Hydra has plenty of openings for craven bureaucrats like you."

He dropped the whimpering trash and stormed from the room, door clicking quietly closed behind him. He wanted to beat a couple of punching bags into submission so he wouldn't be tempted to punch the snot out of anyone who sneezed the wrong way in front of him.

Reno stood shaking his head at the trembling paper pusher who had almost pushed the world's deadliest assassin to his breaking point. "'He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf,'" the gentle doctor said wisely, picking up his briefcase and departing. (_King Lear_ 3.4.19-20)

So James was glowering his way back to his room, still steamed at the man's assumptions about him. He was more than a mindless, destructive machine. He was a man, a person who was good for more than killing. The saying was not once an assassin, always an assassin. Each life he had taken weighed heavily upon his conscience. He saw them, their faces – their haunting eyes reflecting his distorted, twisted image back at him – every night in his dreams. At some point every single night, all of his ghosts stood around him as he wept and begged for their forgiveness, for absolution.

They never answered him, never gave him any hint of peace. They just stared quietly, mournfully, at the ravaged psyche of their murderer.

James growled, his flesh fist colliding with a wall. He wanted to shower to try cooling the last of his temper off. He needed something to calm this bout of rage that was twisting its way through his mind.

As James stood under the scalding water, forehead pressed to the cool tile wall with his muscles slowly unclenching, he released his anger. The smarmy little ass from earlier couldn't possibly Coulson's second-in-command. The man was too logical, too _honorable_ to go back on his word like the mousy desk jockey had insinuated. That idiot was just a power-grubbing pencil pusher. James knew the type. Thinking through the encounter coolly, rationally helped him calm down some. However, the belief that was good for nothing more than getting his hands bloody made him see red.

His jaw tightened again, so he lifted his head enough to feel the hot water cascade over his scalp. It helped lower his blood pressure some.

A soft knock, Lina's knock, sounded at his door, so James hurriedly turned the water off and threw a towel around his hips. Within a few long strides he had the door opened, revealing the only person likely to buoy his mood.

Lina's mouth went dry at the sight of a shirtless, dripping wet James Barnes. His skin was slightly flushed, his hair hung around his face in a way that could inspire symphonies. The water droplets disappearing beneath his towel – a girl could write sonnets about those beads of liquid.

Her eyes roved his muscles – not bulky, but still defined – freely before landing on the area where his skin scarred and puckered before giving way to metal. She swallowed her sudden urge to cry at the sight. Her tears were not of pity or fear, but of compassion, sadness at this permanent reminder of her friend's prolonged torment.

James cleared his throat awkwardly, taking the pizza box with the pie tin atop it from her (his mouth watered at the thought of pecan pie) as she divested herself of her coat and scarf.

The silence was uncomfortable for the first time since their introduction.

"I'm just going to throw some clothes on," he said at the same time she was taking the food boxes back and saying, "I'll just get this set up, yeah?"

Lina released a strained chuckle, tucking her side bangs behind her ear. "Yeah, go get dressed. We wouldn't want you catching cold."

He pulled some clothes out of a drawer and shuffled back into his small en suite bathroom. _She finally saw my arm – my whole arm. Was she disgusted? She's the first person to really see the starting point of the abomination and the point where _I _end. She looked ready to cry; she must have been disgusted. God, I hope she wasn't too repulsed. And then that silence after she saw. I can cope with rejection from almost anyone but her… Don't let this wretched machine have taken yet another thing from me. Please_, he thought as he hurriedly dressed and ran a brush through his unruly hair. With one final frown at his reflection, he rejoined Lina.

While James was getting dressed, she had been setting up their spots on the bed for dinner and deciding on a movie (she'd brought a couple Disney films over as well; she had been on a Disney kick after her movie night with the girls) to watch afterwards. Lina couldn't banish the image of a shirtless – practically naked, really – James from her mind.

_I wonder what the blasted towel was covering… What a tease. My goodness, he is a luscious specimen of manhood. Even the cybernetic arm doesn't detract from his supreme hotness,_ Lina soliloquized to herself._ I wish he could see that that doesn't change how I look at him. Well, seeing him almost nude changes how I see him – I'd do unspeakable things to him if we were in any other situation, and it takes a lot for me to think that about someone – but the arm doesn't affect my image of him at all. I'll have to find a way to show him that someday. Until then, normalcy is key. _

The bathroom door swung open and a sheepish James emerged. He looked exhausted, like he'd been through the wringer while she was away. Lina instantly realized that her decision to keep things normal wouldn't be enough; joviality and lightness were necessary too.

"Hey, good lookin'. No more peep show tonight?" she joked, sliding back onto the bed. She'd kicked her Converse off while he was dressing, so her purple and white polka dot socked toes curled and uncurled in the air above the floor.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a facsimile of a smile. "Naw. If I showed you anymore, I'd have to charge a cover fee." He collapsed onto the bed tiredly, the pizza box filling the space between them.

"That's a show I'd gladly pay to see. Do you take American Express cards?" she flirted, batting her eyelashes comically.

Her silliness elicited a laugh from James – a quick bark of mirth. "Sorry, sweetheart. Cash only."

"Would you accept pepperoni pizza and pecan pie instead?" Lina lifted the cardboard box lid enticingly.

"Tempting. What's the fair market value for a slice of pie?" He scooped one out, folded it in half, and took a huge bite of the pizza. "This is delicious," James groaned.

"That's why I got it; only the best for my Sarge." She didn't even realize what she had said. She was too focused on assuaging her ravenous hunger to pay any mind to the endearment that had fallen from her lips, but James did.

He stared at her wide-eyed, frozen, for a fraction of a second before composing his features. He liked that, _her _Sarge, _her _soldier. His heart skipped a beat at the subconscious endearment. Lina had done so much for him just by being his friend. She placed no pressure on him to be someone he'd once been, no pressure to be like some variation of who he had been, no pressure to be anyone but who he was now. She took his moods, his flashbacks, and his darkness in stride, and never treated him as strange or _other_ because of those things. She _accepted_ those traits – the darkness had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface with his temper; he'd kept them on a tight leash as Bucky, but the Super Serum and Hydra experiments had brought them to the forefront of his mind and amplified them. Lina accepted them without batting an eye because she saw some trace of light, of goodness hiding in him too.

She saw who he once had been, who he was, and who he could be with enough time and patience. That was a rare gift that only a few other people he knew possessed.

He could get used to being _her Sarge_ if that meant her quiet support would never vanish. The thought brought a tiny smile to his face. She noticed it.

"What are you grinning about? You look so sweet right now," Lina teased, curiosity flaring as she continued to munch on her pizza and watching him closely.

James huffed out a laugh, quickly debating what to tell his perky blonde companion. They had never lied to each other, and something in him balked at the thought of starting now. He _liked_ trusting her.

"You," he finally said with his trademark lazy half-smile as he looked at Lina from under his lashes. It was a typical Bucky Barnes response, James realized with no small amount of surprise, only it was different this time. This girl – _woman_, he corrected himself – mattered, and that made it different.

She was flummoxed, mouth hanging open with her pizza hanging forgotten from her hands. "Me? _ Pourquoi? Qu'est-ce que je fais_?" (Why? What did I do?)

"_Vous avez dit que j'étais le votrê – 'mon Sarge.' C'est pourquoi je suis souriant."_ (You called me yours – 'my Sarge.' That is why I am smiling.)

"Oh, I did say that, huh? _Était-ce trop?"_ She looked so fretful over his comfort level that he simply grinned even wider. (Was that too much?)

"No, it was just enough." James moved the pizza box to the floor, swiping another slice before reclining closer to her on the bed. Halfway through the slice he decided to tell her more. "_Vous êtes une baume sur des mauvaise jours." _ He snuck a peek at her from the corner of his eyes to see how she took that little revelation. (You are a balm on the bad days.)

Lina smiled softly. "_Et sur les biens jours?_" (And on the good days?)

James clicked his tongue playfully, scooting closer. "_C'est facile; vous êtes la lumière du soleil!"_ (That's easy; you are the sunshine!)

Her bubbling, rich peals of laughter were his reward for flirting in the language of love. "You are quite the charmer, James."

He chuckled around his mouthful of pizza. "I'm a hell of a dance partner too. I used to know how to sweep a girl off her feet."

The mood threatened to grow somber, so Lina nudged his calf with her sock-covered toes. "I bet you've still got you're mojo. Actually, I'm now willing to testify to it under oath."

"You're that confident in my abilities, hm?"

He saw her eyes darken as they flicked down to his mouth and back up, her pearly teeth worrying her bottom lip all the while. That look, the one she so innocuously shot him, forcefully reminded James that he was a man and she was a woman, and they were reclining mere inches from each other on his bed. With that one look, he was ready to be putty in her hands. Something told him she wouldn't mind being putty in his hands either.

"I am. I _really_ am." They had somehow brought their faces close to each other, mere breaths away. Lina had no idea when this had happened and she panicked, reeling back. "You said last week that you wanted a haircut."

"Yeah," he muttered, eyes locked on her soft pink lips as they retreated from him. He nearly groaned at the growing distance. "Hell of a non sequitur."

Lina tsked from her crouching position by her purse. "I mentioned your mojo and figured I'd help give it a boost by trimming those luscious locks of yours. I brought my Grandpa Girard's old shears. He and Granny Elke taught my brothers and me how to cut men's hair one summer."

James looked at her strangely from his lounging repose on the bed. "That's an odd thing to teach your grandkids."

"They always said it was a good skill to have in case we needed to earn some quick money. Now I think that Grandpa was just too cheap to go to a barber. C'mon, hop to. Off with the shirt, on with a towel, and straddle the toilet." When he didn't budge from his spot on the bed she gently slapped his thigh. It was like striking marble.

"Fine, I'm up. I'm up," he groused, pulling the dark blue t-shirt over his head as he made his way to the bathroom. "I think you just want me half-naked again," he teased, trying to ignore the full exposure of his arm again.

"Oh please. If I were really trying, I'd have you stripped bare in a trice." She settled a towel around his shoulders, hands lingering for just a second too long. "However, I will settle for ogling your shirtless torso. You're a good looking man, Sarge, and looking never hurt anyone." Her hands were gentle as she ran a wet brush through his still-damp hair. James closed his eyes as she worked behind him. "How were the meetings with Coulson? Fruitful, I hope?"

His shoulders immediately tensed as he remembered the fiasco from earlier. He related the whole story to her – she was a good listener, gasping and growling at the right times – and he could have sworn that she wouldn't have hesitated to verbally tear into the squirrely man had she been there. Instead, she gently snipped his hair into something more decent looking than the unkempt mass he'd been sporting. She angrily muttered something about "ass clowns being given even a modicum of power turning into damnable tyrants" and he half-heartedly smiled. Lina could make her profanities sound rather eloquent at times.

She finished his hair and ushered him before the small mirror hanging over the sink. James was speechless. The man gaping back at him was _him_ – Bucky – but still _him_-James. His hair was shorter, cut and styled similarly to the way he'd worn it in his old life, but messier and a smidge longer. It looked like a combination of self – or selves – that he hadn't known could exist.

Lina gently brushed loose hairs off of his upper body, fingers lingering over the scar tissue around his metal arm. James, suddenly aware of where her attention was, shrugged away from her touch, moving to cover himself back up. She caught his hands before he could, carefully pinning him between her body and the sink. As the cool porcelain pressed against the small of his back, he realized that she was minimizing her threat level by not placing her arms around him. He wasn't trapped. There was plenty of room to escape if he needed to. His curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. Was she going to grimace in fear and disgust, or do… something else?

Her right hand rose to rest at the juncture of flesh and metal. His skin felt the coolness of her palm, the light calluses that adorned the pads of her fingers. The cybernetic arm registered the soft pressure her hand exerted, but no more. She was gentle, soft. It was a new sensation.

Lina licked her lips nervously. "I – I know you don't see it or believe it, but you are a whole person. No sci-fi-worthy prosthetic can diminish that. I also happen to think that you are the… the most beautiful man I've ever known, scars and all."

James closed his eyes tightly, swallowing the lump in his throat that arose at his sudden swell of emotions. Those simple honest words were the most beautiful he'd ever heard. She saw to the heart of him and made a nest of peace amidst the swirling chaos that otherwise existed. He swallowed thickly again, opening his molten blue eyes to meet her foresty ones.

What she did next took his breath away entirely and brought tears to his eyes.

The blonde slowly leaned in, eyes never leaving his. Her warm breath ghosted over his skin, leaving goose bumps as she deliberately lowered those silken, pink lips to the scar tissue nearest his heart. Her eyes fluttered shut as she pressed a soft kiss to his twisted flesh, ragged and ugly, like his past. Her kiss burned his skin, seared its memory into his skin like she was branding him. It burned like a cleansing fire, like a candle obstinately burning away the darkness, like absolution.

He wasn't magically healed, and he would never fully recover himself, but he'd get as damn close to it as he could for those lips.

James clutched Lina to him in a fiercely protective embrace. He kissed her temple and rested his chin on top of her head, blinking away tears all the while. She nuzzled into him, her breaths tickling against his collar bone, arms wrapped around his waist.

"Thank you," James mumbled into her loose curls.

"I've got your back, _mésange. Vous êtes précieux pour moi." _Her lips brushed against his skin as she spoke, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. (Chickadee; you are precious to me.)

He pulled pack, both hands coming up from her waist to cup her jaw as they gazed at each other. Lina turned her head to press gentle kisses to his palms, vibranium one first. "_Ne me remerciez pas. Vous le méritez, et je veux lui donner,_" she continued softly, voice never rising above a whisper. The cameras could strain to catch as much as they could, but these words were for him and him alone. (Don't thank me. You deserve it, and I want to give it.)

Eventually they relocated to his bed, still wound together to watch Lina's two favorite Disney movies – The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and Beauty and the Beast. They remained entwined throughout both films, exchanging murmured conversation every now and then. She lowly informed him of David's unwanted attentions, so he decided to improve her self-defense skills, rudely shoving aside the Winter Soldier's howl to ensure this _David_ never bothered her again. She told him about her nieces and their antics over the holiday, he smiled at the image of rowdy little girls, vaguely remembering a long distant hope that he would sire a daughter someday. He told her about it, about the bitterness he had felt at being drafted into the Second World War and the theft of that particular dream that accompanied that memory. He instead comforted himself with the smell of sunshine and – was that honeysuckle perfume? – that faintly clung to her hair.

Neither was willing to move, to disentangle themselves, or to fall asleep. The quiet soothing company was the best thing either could have asked for.


	13. Chapter 13

I love all of the feedback from the last chapter; y'all are incredible. I handwrote the last one (seventeen pages), and it seemed to help with the flow of things. A few of you noticed that in your reviews, and I'm glad that the change paid off. I've been so used to writing academically that switching to fun prose was a bit weird, but hopefully I've found a good stride. Writing it out first seemed to help, so I did that here too. Let me know if it was a consistent change in your reviews.

Okay, so, we've got a fully loaded chapter today! We have: a confrontation, Clint sass, a BBC _Sherlock_ reference, strange senses of honor, the EEOC, creepers, angst, and some action! Buckle up, boys and girls, we've got a bumpy ride ahead of us.

I also highly suggest listening to The Civil Wars' self-titled album that this chapter's song is from. It's fantastic, and has a little something for most everybody.

Oh, FYI, the super creepy scene (you'll know the one): based in reality. Let me know how it plays out, please!

* * *

_**Chapter 13**_

"I had me a girl,  
Like cigarette smoke  
She came and she went.

Ooh, I slipped through his hands  
To my backdoor man,  
Under his chin.

Oh that woman taught me to pray,  
But for all of her wandering ways…"

-The Civil Wars, "I Had Me a Girl"

The next week saw Lina and James in the subterranean gym circling each other with dulled practice knives. He'd tested her unarmed self-defense skills to be passably sufficient against an untrained attacker, so he'd asked if there was anything else she'd like to learn or brush up on. When she'd bashfully, slowly revealed that she knew something of knives, his heart had nearly leapt out of his chest with excitement and dread. He was a world-class sniper, was trained on a multitude of weaponry – hell, his body _was_ a weapon – but there was something sinuously, lethally beautiful about knives. Their silence, their silky gleam, and their brutal efficiency – the Winter Soldier purred with satisfaction at having a knife in his hands again, even if it was too dull to do more than cut butter. The familiar weight had a grounding effect on him.

He held back, realizing that Lina was not one of his former pupils or a formally trained field operative, but gave enough to push her. They'd already gone three rounds, and she had yet to 'kill' or unarm him.

James couldn't go any easier on her – if he did, she'd know it and be pissed. He didn't want to be scolded for letting her win just because she's a girl, or some such nonsense. Besides, he liked it when she was flustered. It was worth it to challenge her just for the determination in her face. He knew it would also help her more this way.

She tossed her side bangs out of her eyes, never looking away from the smirking man before her. He stood across the mats from her, twirling his knife with a lazy grace that screamed of years training with such weapons. He continued to smirk at her, eyes twinkling merrily. She glared at him. The jerk hadn't even broken a sweat, and she was already winded.

They had run through drills and he'd deemed her sufficient enough. Now they were running practice scenarios wherein he'd attack her in one way or another – empty-handed, with a club, a gun, a knife – and she was to fend him off. She stood a decent chance against an untrained academic or street thug, but James had started slipping in moves only a professional would use. Lina was down within two minutes every single time.

Something whizzed past her ear, and before she knew what was happening, James was barreling toward her. He drew another dull knife and swung at her head, a blow she ducked under. She landed a jab at his kidney as she twisted under his arm and behind him. He pivoted on a dime, predicting her movement, and threw her to the mat by her ponytail.

Lina landed several feet away, and flipped onto her back quickly. He was already bearing down on her again, so she drew her knees to her chest and kicked him in the gut with all her might. He grunted, grabbed her by the ankles and flipped her onto her stomach again.

James knelt with one knee in her back to pull her head up by her ponytail, sliding his practice blade over her throat. "Dead," he whispered, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear.

A jolt of pleasure ran down her spine at the sensation, causing her to wriggle a bit under his weight.

He was off of her like a shot, but he offered her a hand to help her up. Lina took the proffered appendage, climbing gracelessly to her feet. He held onto her longer than necessary, thumb caressing her knuckles lightly. James reveled in the blush that stained her cheeks at his action, smirking proudly.

Ever since their almost-kiss the previous week, the pair had been dancing around each other like ballerinas. Nothing untoward or unprofessional happened, but they had confirmation of the other's attraction now. Eyes would linger, every brush of a hand meant _something else_, and each smile or laugh gave greater pleasure. They competed to see who could prompt the most blushes without crossing the unspoken line they'd established (James was usually the winner).

Their trips to the gym had caused some eyebrows to be raised, and their easy smiles at one another caused even more whispers amongst the others housed on the same level. They rarely encountered the same people twice, as they came and went on various operations. After the first agent (some peppy girl with an accent) had cornered Lina about her ease around James in his earshot, they'd sobered up a bit and acted with greater subtlety and reserve. People still stared at the Winter Soldier walking among them and beside on of their own. The attention put James on edge, but he slid on his impassive façade and carried on with a challenging stare for anyone who questioned him. Having a bubbly Lina smile and greet S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel that she knew as if nothing was out of the ordinary or remiss helped ease his anxieties some.

Needless to say it came as a shock when someone approached and spoke to them after their latest round. "You keep forgetting that he has legs too. Sweep him to the floor and then press your advantage," the husky-voiced redhead said to Lina, causing the blonde and the assassin to fly apart.

The woman was strikingly beautiful with a voice that sounded like sex and whiskey. Lina gaped at her, stunned that Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, the woman responsible for shedding light on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s activities, would give her sparring advice. Lina had no idea why the other woman would speak to her unless she was looking for an excuse to talk to James. But this was the Black Widow, femme fatale and spy extraordinaire. She wasn't the kind of woman to need an excuse to speak to anyone.

James bristled at the redhead, glaring fiercely at the woman who'd concussed him not two weeks before.

Natasha noticed his hostility and coolly asked, "How's your head?"

He ground his teeth and remained obstinately silent, his brain working overtime to tell him why she seemed so damn familiar. Lina eyed the two of them curiously, noticing another person doing the same from halfway across the room. He looked ready to pounce into action should the two assassins come to blows again.

The Black Widow looked at Lina. "Is he always so eloquent?"

"Oh, yeah, he's verbose. I can never get him to shut up," the blonde responded with a playful look at James. He didn't move a muscle, not even a twitch.

The other woman expelled a huff, either of amusement or annoyance. "I'm sorry I didn't ask about your head sooner, I've been rather busy. The last thing we needed that day was the Winter Soldier running loose like an enraged rhinoceros."

James continued to glare, growing frustrated with his inability to place the redhead. He knew the woman, knew she had been important to him once, but he couldn't remember why.

"Anyway," Lina said to cover the tense lapse, "thanks for the tip. I'm Lina, by the way, Lina Balitiu." She offered her a hand to shake.

The Black Widow took it. "Natasha Romanoff. Coulson's been keeping us up to date with your case."

"Nice to meet you. I figured the rest of the Avengers knew. I try to keep Captain Rogers in the loop."

Natasha nodded. "Steve appreciates it."

Her blond companion, who had been listening attentively from his place by the boxing ring, nodded his agreement. "Cap sends his regards," he said, not bothering to introduce himself. Lina recognized him as the guy she'd given the cashew chicken that one night.

The redhead nodded with her trademark half-smile. "It was nice to meet you," she said politely, turning to walk away.

James recognized her then. He knew that profile like he knew his way around a rifle. "Natalia," he said, barely loud enough for her to hear.

She froze, every muscle tensed in anticipation of an attack that never came. "_Uchitel_," she responded coldly, turning to face him. (Teacher.)

"_I think we know each other well enough for you to drop the formalities, Nat_," James said suggestively in Russian.

Lina sharply looked up at him to find his eyes steely; her brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out what he was implying (and hoping that her initial assumption was wrong, even though she knew it wasn't). She reached out to lightly touch his arm, hurt when he shrugged her off. "_How do you two know each other?_" she demanded.

The two super assassins never broke eye contact with each other. "_It's good to know my lessons stuck with you, Natalia Alianovna Romanova,_" he said coldly.

"_I've picked up some new tricks since then,_" she replied tersely.

"_I remember."_ He absently touched his fingertips to his temple. "_How's dearest Alexei_?" James spat the name out like it was poison, face remaining eerily stoic.

A gentle hand on Lina's shoulder broke her away from the frosty exchange as the Widow bit out, "_Dead_."

"Hey, kid," the blond man whispered, drawing her towards the boxing ring, "come on away in case things get nasty."

She nodded and grudgingly followed him, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure no one was killing anyone else. She could have sworn that the Black Widow gave a nearly imperceptible nod of approval to her friend as he drew the other woman away. Lina and the man stood warily watching their companions refuse to back down from one another.

"Great way to spend an afternoon, huh?" he asked, leaning against the base of the ring. The ease of his position belied his readiness to pounce should a brawl break out.

"Yeah, I wouldn't have it any other way," she quipped back, watching James intently in case he had a breakdown or fell into Winter Soldier mode again. She hadn't the faintest idea what she could usefully do in such a situation, but she could at least try talking him down. He didn't perceive her as a threat, so maybe it would work. She extended a hand to the man beside her. "Lina Balitiu."

"Clint Barton." They shook hands without ever once removing their eyes from the action. "We all thought Fury had gone off his rocker putting a helpless slip like you in with the likes of _him_."

"'We?'" she asked curiously. She didn't argue his points about Fury's sanity or her unimposing physique. She'd had the same thought many times.

"The Avengers."

"Ah. Fury is rather… unpredictable."

Clint smirked at her attempt at diplomacy. "Guy's crazy like a fox."

Lina felt her eyebrows arch. "Is this your way of approving his methods?"

"Approving of Fury is not my division, kid."

At that moment, James stormed from the room with a great 'SLAM!' of the metal door. Lina stared for a moment at Natasha's infinitesimally quivering figure. The two blonds exchanged a look and rushed forward, him to Natasha and Lina to collect her bag before she was off after James. She shoved the door back open, terrified by the hand print left behind.

Adrenaline shot through her system as she ran after James, trying (and failing) to pay no mind to the shaken S.H.I.E.L.D. workers she flew by. Their fearful expressions made her heart pound even faster.

She reached his door in record time and tried it. It was locked. Lina swallowed her trepidation and knocked. "James?" she called softly, masking the tremble in her voice as best she could. "It's me. Let me in."

No response.

She tried again, louder this time. "James, honey, open up."

On the other side of the door, James sat curled into the corner that his bed filled, hands fisted in his hair as he fought against slipping into the darkness. Lina's soft, worry-laden voice sent a tremor through his body as he curled even tighter into himself.

"_Mésange,_ please let me help you." (Chickadee.)

In a sudden flash of rage, he picked up the hardcover book sitting at the foot of his bed and hurled it at the door with all of the force he could muster. Her startled yelp, muffled by the steel-reinforced wood between them, only increased his ire and self-loathing. _Better to scare her than to scar her_, the Soldier whispered to him darkly. It was almost sad. He couldn't let her in for fear of hurting her. Again. He wouldn't let her in because he couldn't stand to see pity in her eyes. He couldn't let himself lose control and hurt her, not when the only person he wanted to strangle was Natalia. He refused to imagine Lina was anyone else in any situation, refused to transpose the face of the one he really wanted to hurt onto the one he only wanted to protect.

"Sarge?" she called again, even more cautiously than before.

The fear in her voice broke something in him. "Go the hell away!" he screamed at the door, legs writhing on the sheets.

Lina couldn't abide being yelled at, so suddenly she was raising her voice at him. "No! Scream and curse all you want, jackass, but I'm not going to budge! Open this door right now and accept some damn help. Stop being a brat and open the fuck up!"

She heard the bedsprings creak under his weight, holding her breath as she wondered if her display of temper had hindered or helped the situation.

The door shook and moaned in protest as he launched his body at it with a wordless yell, a loud '_thud_' echoing along the hall. She jumped back, heart hammering, in fear and anticipation of… more than that.

"I'm still not leaving!" she called after collecting her false bravado. She didn't know if he'd heard her over the sounds of things being thrown about coming from the other side of the abused door.

The bathroom door slammed shut a second after she spoke. Lina sunk to the ground next to Room 42. _My body won't stop shaking_, she noted absently, gazing at her hands. _Huh._

James glared at his reflection, hating the broken man staring back at him. He had just scared the only person who knew _him_ in an attempt to save her anymore damage at his hands instead of talking it out like he knew he should have. He knew better, but he was currently incapable of behaving the way he knew he should.

With a final sneer, he sunk to the floor against the sink, trying to calm his erratic thoughts.

_Fucking Natalia_, he thought venomously. That was basically the whole problem right there. The damnable woman had broken his (the Soldier's _and _Bucky's) heart. While their romantic entanglement was over, he couldn't quell the anger and betrayal that reignited at the very sight of her. Paired with his rage over her attempt to kill him as she left the Red Room, the Winter Soldier had no qualms about putting a knife through her back. He'd put a bullet through her side once already in Odessa. He'd spared her life then out of some misguided sense of sentimentality, but he didn't consider them even. James hated himself for the thought, and hated himself even more for his complete lack of remorse about its existence.

He was glad that her Alexei was dead; that was probably a worse blow to her than his bullet. That snot rag had never been one of James' favorite people. For Natalia – _his _Natalia then – to be given to Alexei Shostakov as a bride had been too much. That asshole had been brainwashed into the cult of communism the second they thawed him out, and had been Stalin's favorite before his eyes opened. The Red Guardian, as Shostakov had later become, was an entitled prick in James' book. Everyone cow-towed to him out of love or fear, including the Natalia, the strongest woman James had known then, and the first one he'd loved. Sure, he'd known of their engagement (arranged by the Red Room), but he'd hoped that her love for him could put it to an end. It didn't.

Natalia – Natasha – whatever – had been just as shaken by their encounter as he. She hadn't been expecting his memories to return right then, but they had, and she had barely held herself together. He had seen the strain in her eyes and in the way she barely pursed her lips.

He'd had to run from the gym before all of his latent rage boiled over and the Winter Soldier burst through. He couldn't lose his cool in front of so many people. He couldn't lose control and endanger so many. The fleeting memory of being tased in an attempt to contain him electrified his senses for a moment and he shuddered.

So many memories were fighting for control, memories of meeting Natalia as he trained a class of young women hoping to attain the title of Black Widow. While the other girls engaged in petty rivalries, she had learned everything she could from her _uchitel _(teacher). She picked his brain about martial arts, selected him as the full operative she'd test her skills in seduction on, selected him as her bedmate. She had taken his heart, dissected it, and handed it back to him while it still beat and bled.

She always slept with her back to the wall and a gun under her pillow.

She always wore too-big pajamas in an attempt to feel safe and innocent, like a child, after missions that stole a piece of her soul.

She always placed a hand over his heart when she said "I love you."

She had done that before she tried to kill him.

James pounded his hand against his head in a vain attempt to make the memories stop. He couldn't handle much more of this flood of feelings. He dragged his hand down, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye until he saw stars. He didn't realize until warm moisture pooled in his palm that he'd been crying.

James was glad that there was no one to see him in this state, even though he wanted nothing more than a comforting arm around his shoulders. He wanted Lina, but he couldn't watch her eyes cloud with pity, couldn't answer her questions.

He didn't want her to see him cry.

Just as when his number had been called in the draft, he couldn't let anyone see him cry. He'd locked himself in the bathroom then too, he knew, as it was the one place Steve wouldn't inadvertently walk into. James had allowed himself to wallow before going in for his mandatory physical, cursing his good health for the first time, and then he had lied to his sickly best friend with a hero complex about enlisting. He didn't want to dim the light in Steve's eyes with the truth, so he had lied to him for the first time.

He was going to pull something similar with Lina, he decided. _She doesn't need to know how truly fucked up your life is, Barnes_, he told himself sternly, ignoring the thought that maybe she already knew. He couldn't stand to see a difference in her eyes when she looked at him, just like he hadn't been able to stomach that same change in Steve.

He didn't want her to see the darkness that threatened to swallow him, and anyone near him, whole. James couldn't drag her down like that, but he couldn't let her go, he couldn't let Steve go – the two people who exuded light and goodness in his life were the ones he needed to protect, but he was too selfish to fully give them up. If Lina were smart, she'd go to Coulson and ask to be reassigned. If she were smart, she'd never come back.

If she were smart, she wouldn't have followed him to his room.

Her loyalty outweighed her self-preservation instincts. _Just like Steve._

He allowed the tears to fall for their sakes, aware that the blonde was still camped outside his room.

Lina sat outside the door for so long that she started nodding off as the cold hallway sapped all feeling from her fingers. She continued to hope against hope that the door would creak open and he'd let her in. James knew that she'd do something like this, so…

It never happened.

Hours passed, and finally a clearing throat had her jerking awake so suddenly that she whacked her head against the wall. She hissed in pain.

Clint stood before her chuckling. "Smooth move."

"Shut up and help me stand. I can't feel my butt anymore." She glared, about as intimidating as a bunny, as she held an expectant hand up to him.

He pulled her to her feet, wisely refraining from any smart comments about her posterior. The archer sized her up as she brushed the dirt from her pants, and was amazed, yet again, that this soft bookworm was the babysitter of the world's most renowned killer.

"How would Agent Romanoff feel about you gawking at another woman?" Lina asked, knowing that she could never compare to the icy Russian beauty. At his startled look, the blonde explained, "I saw her necklace, I know you're an archer. Put two and two together, and bam. You're a couple. It wasn't that big a leap, really."

He smirked again. "And here I thought you were just another pretty face. No one else has noticed that. Well, except Pepper, but she's tactful enough to stay quiet about it."

Lina got the hint, nodding. Her mind whirred as she tried to remember… Pepper. Pepper Potts, the only person involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. by that name, was also billionaire-superhero-genius inventor Tony Stark's girlfriend. If the two spies had been around her enough for her to notice the tiny arrow necklace then… "Why are you two in DC if you've been living in Stark Tower, all the way in New York?"

This time Barton just looked amused. "That's classified."

She rolled her eyes. "Right. So… why are you _here_ after earlier?"

"To see if you were." _Alive? In need of rescuing? Maimed? Gone? _So many possible implications hung off of those five little words.

The blonde shrugged, not really knowing what else to say except, "Well, here I am."

Clint clapped a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Go home, kid. There's nothing more to be done tonight, so come back and try again tomorrow."

She sighed and nodded, stooping to retrieve her purse. With one final, longing glance at James' door, she allowed the archer to walk her to the elevator in silence. She wrapped her loose hoodie tighter around her body, feeling incredibly fragile after the day's events.

Lina returned home, weary and emotionally drained, to find David sitting on the steps to her building. She groaned with dread, wondered how he knew where she lived, and lamenting her choice to wear yoga pants. She just knew that his eerie silver gaze was going to feast on her rear, and she was in no mood to deal with that on top of everything else.

"What are you doing here, David?" she asked flatly, slipping a knife from up her sleeve into the palm of her right hand, movement hidden by her pocket. "How did you get my address?"

His tousled head shot up, and Lina distractedly figured that he'd be considered attractive if there weren't something so clearly _off _about him. "Lina! Hey!" He clambered to his feet quickly. "I was just waiting to see if you'd like to grab that bite we'd talked about before break."

She forced herself not to visibly react; guys like this get off on reactions, only serving to encourage their actions. "No. Please leave."

It was fairly late in the evening; the street lights were on, highlighting a distinct dearth of passersby. The lack of life (and witnesses) made the hairs on the nape of Lina's neck stand on end. She ran her fingers over the flat edge of her favorite knife once more before reluctantly sliding it back into its little leather sheath as her mind played out all of the legal ramifications for being prepared to use deadly force as "outmoded" as a knife. It reeked of premeditation, and could result in her being punished, not her harasser.

David chose to ignore her, still firmly planted between Lina and the (locked) door to her building, between her and safety. He approached her with what he thought was a charming grin, saying, "C'mon. You know I've been into you ever since we started working together, and I _know_ you feel the same. You _always_ remember my coffee order, you _always_ smile at me in the halls, and you _always_ save me a seat in faculty meetings. Stop playing hard to get and go out with me already!"

She shook her head, backing out of his reach. "Your coffee order changed to match mine, so of course I remember it. I smile at everyone, and I saved you a seat _one time_ two _years_ ago. Those aren't signs of feelings, those are _manners_. Now leave, or I will call the cops and file a harassment complaint with the EEOC. I'm already going to file one with HR."

David scowled. "You can't do that to me, you won't. Stop playing games and have dinner with me."

"No. Leave me alone." She tried to rush around him to get to the door, but he lunged and caught her. His grip was so tight that she knew there would be bruises around her upper arms in the morning.

A manic gleam entered his eyes now as he spoke fervently, spittle flying: "I've put so much time into us, into getting you to notice me, into making you smile – you _have _to see that. I've put in so much effort. You _can't _say no, you _can't_ tell me it was all for nothing. You _have _to go out with me! I've at least earned _that _much from you!"

Lina was well and truly scared of what he might do to her if she didn't get away quickly. "David?" she asked shakily.

"Yeah, baby?"

She fought the urge to retch. "Let me the hell go!"

When his grasp tightened again, she stomped on his toes as hard as she could, proud of the pop she heard as one of them broke. He doubled over, still holding her, so she kneed him in the gut and fled up the stairs to the door, shakily trying to unlock the door before he made it up behind her.

Once in, she slammed it tight and was halfway up the first flight of stairs before he pounded at the glass. She wasn't worried about it breaking, there were wrought iron bars behind it. His howl of pain and rage followed her up another flight of stairs, and echoed in her mind for the rest of the night.


End file.
